


They Did So Solemnly

by spindlekiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Debating, Fluff, Gratuitous Use Of Alcohol And Party Games, Hogwarts Eighth Year, House Elves, Humour, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Reference to Rape- Secondary Character- Offscreen, References to Hamlet, Shenanigans, Zero Contrition, self indulgent, sort of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's eighth year at Hogwarts, and he supposes it’s a good thing he has more than enough to occupy himself, because otherwise this thing with Draco Malfoy might have been distracting, oh wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Did So Solemnly

**Author's Note:**

> A Note, 
> 
> Co-curricular debating. The most passive aggressive non-sport that a lunatic who needs an emotional outlet can take on. In places of learning these dedicated individuals lock academic horns with snooty, insincere, finger-breaking hand-shakers, biased adjudicators who enjoy the salty tears of young children, and snobbish third speakers with killer pointed brows and egos far weightier than their rebuttals. 
> 
> These courageous speakers are required to be brave during these harrowing, daunting, tenter-hooked hours of pointless, traumatising arguments that are; ‘for fun’. With medals, and reputations, and pride on the line these courageous young ones face off, public speaking, against their wretched enemies and with about negative zero support from their peers. 
> 
> Boy, are they fucking brave.
> 
> This story is dedicated to those veterans.
> 
> This story is dedicated to those thrill seekers. 
> 
> Oh yes, this one, is for the debaters.

They Did So Solemnly  


 

Debate I - Harry Potter v The Three Witches

If someone had told Harry Potter that he would be playing the begrudging timekeeper to The Hogwarts Co-Curricular Debating Competition upon his return to school for his eighth year, he would first have made clear his astonishment that such a competition existed, and then laughed at the sheer absurdity of his being involved in it.  
Harry Potter hated public speaking with an ardent passion, always had. 

He could face down dragons and eviscerate dark lords, but it was the idea of talking in front of an audience that had his hands shaking, and his palms sweating, and his words all jumbled up and snagged, improperly, between silly stutters and muddled mumbles. 

He often reflected that this in particular , must have been why they had been forced to give so many presentations in potions. 

He remembered well the evil gleam in Snape’s eye as he had sat in the back of the potions classroom, gleefully watching as Harry stumbled over his words, dropped his parchment cards on the floor, and made an all round fool of himself trying to explain the various magical properties of Cobber-Beatle Wings combined with Nestle-Worm Dung. 

Snape’s singularly red-inked quill had barely paused in it’s criticism across Harry’s task sheet for all of the mistakes that had been made.  
And Snape, god blast him, had waited ecstatically for Harry to finish so that he could clap slowly, read maliciously, and say, with an ugly twist to his lips.

“Brava Potter. A rousing demonstration- of idiocy.”

Bloody, sadistic git.

In any case, the lesson that Harry had learnt there was that public speaking simply wasn’t for him. 

He was a man of few words, a silent enigma, a mystery. Harry was of the opinion that actions spoke louder than any particular proneness to verbosity anyway. Quite unlike Draco Malfoy, who seemed to think that his own voice was the most pleasant sound in the entire universe, let alone Hogwarts. 

Unbelievable yarns about high-stakes helicopter escapes aside, Harry was secretly inclined to agree with him. 

“Please, Harry.” Hermione pleaded, eyes wide in the moonlight. There was a pressure on the back of his legs, and of course she’d gone and bloody sat on them. He missed the days when they had had boundaries. 

“We only need one more speaker, and then the girls and I can sign up officially, you won’t have to do anything you know. Just read out the times!”

“It’s still public speaking ‘Mione.” Harry said sleepily.

This was the fourth time she had accosted him, but the first time she had done so in the middle of the night, when he had been sleeping. He was half tempted to smother himself, or her, with his pillow.

“Yes, but we won’t make you actually argue Harry. Even though most teams do swap positions around a little bit, we all know how awful-”

She was interrupted by Harry as he groaned into the darkness. “No.” He grumbled, pulling his left arm out from under the sheets and pushing her off his bed.  
He heard a thump as she hit the ground. “Well, that was just uncalled for, Harry.” Hermione said primly, sounding rather put out. 

Harry heard her stand to leave. “But don’t think you’ve heard the end of this.” she said as she left the room with only one significantly ominous look back.

“Potatoes.” Neville murmured in his sleep. 

Yes, that about summed up the state of things, Harry mused to himself as he drifted off to the strangely comforting symphony of Ron’s aggressive snores and Dean’s mouth-breathing.

 

Harry was just spreading a layer of avocado across his toast the next morning when she struck again.

“Harry,” she said, sitting down and putting a few of her books on the table. “I really think-”

“No.” he said bluntly, without looking up.

“Come on Potter, be a good lad and come to the gallant aid of a few damsels who need your heroic self.” came an aristocratic voice, one laced with snark and secret wickedness. Or something.

“Morning, Pansy.” he said, snorting, there was absolutely nothing damsel-like about these three witches. “And it’s still no.”

“Oh, please, Harry. It would be ever so nice if you could just help us out, just this once, just for this teeny weeny thing.”

“Susan.” he greeted politely. She fluttered her lashes ridiculously and held a hand to her heart. “He speaks!”

If he was being honest with himself, Harry was glad that Hermione had found some female friends, people who could understand her better and appreciate her talents more than he or Ron could, it was just that the three of them together also happened to be bloody scary. 

The terrifying combination of Pansy’s brutal ruthlessness, Susan’s charming yet scrupulous nature, and Hermione’s genius was not something the world was ready for. If they grew up and decided that world domination was in their sights, Harry actually didn’t think he had it in him to stand in their way.

He sighed exasperatedly and put his knife down for a moment. 

“I don’t see why you want me anyway, I can hardly help with the ideas, or the writing, or the speaking, or the arguing, or anything even vaguely related to the skills that an intelligent debate may require.” he said, quite proud of all the good points he had made. Irrefutable. 

“That’s exactly why we want you, Potter.” said Pansy, fiddling with the gaudy sapphire ring that sat around her right index finger.

Confusion.

“I’m confused.”

Pansy smiled at him, in a sort of off-putting, feral, feminine kind of way. “Think of yourself as a mascot of sorts.”

“Err.” 

Susan rolled her eyes and sat down across from him. “You already know that we need a fourth member to be able to participate, all you’d have to is read the times and ring a bell at one, and three, and five minutes.”

“Yes, but why? I don’t understand why someone else can’t do it?”

“There is no one else.” Hermione answered him, looking slightly manic. Her hair crackled with energy. 

“Err, Hermione, you might want to-”

“There is no one else! All of the others either want to speak, which is against our primary objective here, or they don’t want to be involved at all-”

“What, like me you mean?”

Hermione crossed her arms and got that looks about her that meant she was working her way up to a lecture, or a good old fashioned nag. Harry placed his bets on the latter. 

“Harry James Potter, you are my oldest and dearest friend-”

Ding ding ding.

“Hey!” Ron cried, insulted from down near Seamus and Dean. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“No.” Hermione called back sweetly. “You’re the boyfriend.” she said.

Or the prey, Harry corrected mentally in a world weary tone. He rubbed his eyes and stared deeply into his green tea. He quite liked the idea of imagining it to be red wine, or a scotch, not because he preferred the taste or anything, but simply for the aesthetics, that classic image of melancholia; a tired man hunched over the bar, staring into his cups as though they held the answers to the universe. 

It appealed to his more artistic sensibilities is what it did.

“So,” said Susan, as she slammed a fork into one of the sausages and ripped the end off with her teeth. “Are you in?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, already regretting that he was about tog give in.

“Fine.” He said with a gusty exhale. “But I’m not, ever, and I mean ever, giving a speech. Are we all understood on that?”

All three of the harpies nodded. 

“Good, and can we have treacle tart at the team meetings?” 

Pansy sniffed but they all agreed.

Susan grinned. “You know Harry, I think you might actually enjoy this, rather a lot, if you let yourself.”

Harry was already missing his freedom.

“Oh Potter, it won’t be that painful.” Pansy said, with the air of one who thought that something was going to be very painful indeed, and was happy about it.

“Besides,” Hermione said, eyes twinkling with untold sin. “Draco Malfoy has joined a team too.”

And with that final bombshell the three of them cackled evilly and disappeared with a puff of purple smoke into the ether. 

Or you know, they picked up their books and walked over to the Hufflepuff table to add their names to the sign up sheet. Whatever. 

 

Debate II - The Three Witches v The Esteemed Opposition: Round 1

The first round of debates approached with no small amount of excitement. With the abolishment of Quidditch for the returning eighth year students, some new source of entertainment was required to keep that sense of exciting rivalry alive. The houses were no longer divided into teams, but that hadn’t stopped people from providing their proud and vocal support of the teams people thought would win at this new, muggle sport that had, against all odds, taken over Hogwarts. 

Harry himself didn’t understand it. What was so exciting about a bunch of people arguing about something? That didn’t stop him from hedging his own bets. The majority of students thought that the team most likely to win was The Silver Bullets, a team that consisted of Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. It was a boys club for sure, but Harry had been attending the meeting with Hermione, Pansy and Susan, and had been throughly scared out of doubting any of them.  
He put down ten galleons. He was going to collect.

He realised that he was running slightly late, so he went up to his room to collect their books. He had been charged with protecting their parchment, and making sure that no one interfered with their research or planning. Grabbing the folder and the Marauder’s Map, he left the tower and began making his way across to the other side of the castle to the classroom they had been having their meetings in.

He was walking by an alcove, purple folder clutched tightly to his chest, when it happened. 

A pale hand darted out and grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him into the small space between the two stone pillars. 

Harry had his wand poking into the flesh of the offender’s neck in an instant.

“Calm down, Potter.” came the voice of Draco Malfoy, it was a soft cadence, and not at all what Harry was interested in hearing right then thankyou very much.

“Get off me, you pillock.” Harry said, pushing away and stumbling back out into the corridor.

“Say, Malfoy.” he then asked curiously. “What’s this all about anyhow?”

He turned to see Malfoy leaning carelessly back against the wall. His well fitted black school robes framed his trim figure and his body against the stone was all well structured angles. 

“Nothing Potter, just wanted to ask you your opinion on something.” he replied, face barely moving. There was something mirthful in his eyes however, something that suggested he was laughing softly at the world, or maybe Harry. Which wasn’t on really. Harry had thought that they might have moved past the ‘laughing at each other because of the deathly rivals thing’ this year.

“Well,” replied Harry bluntly. “What is it Malfoy, I don’t have all day you know.”

“I suppose it shall have to wait then.” said Malfoy, blasé as you please. 

He launched himself from the wall and swept past Harry, his robes rippled cooly in the breeze as he walked away, an almost leisurely interpretation of how Snape’s had used to billow out behind him as though there were a furious wind beneath his feet. “Thanks for your time, Potter.” Malfoy added with a smirk.

Somewhat disconcerted, Harry continued down the hallway to meet with the girls. 

“Where the fuck is our argument blue-print?” Pansy snapped as she watched Hermione rummage through their folder with increasing frenzy. 

“It’s not hear at all!” Hermione exclaimed as she launched several summoning charms at the now disorderly pile of parchments. 

“Harry!” she asked, whirling on him. “What happened?”

It was one of those times that Harry would have liked to claim ignorance, live a blissful, dumb life where he wasn’t aware of anything incriminating.

“I want you all to know,” he started, raising two calming hands. “That I kept it safely inside my invisibility cloak. Which was locked in a box. Which could only be opened with a splash of my own blood. Which was in my trunk. Which was locked. The muggle way. And also the wizard way. And also-” he noted Hermione’s dark expression. “-stored at the bottom of the lake.”

Susan snorted. “Stop being a wise-arse. Just tell us.”

Pansy, who was smoking an illicit cigarette out of an arrow slit in the wall, hummed her agreement. 

“Well, to be completely fair, I didn’t realise what had happened until just now.”

“Yes,” Susan tapped her foot impatiently. “But what exactly happened?”

Harry hung his head in shame. “Draco Malfoy.”

He quickly explained the odd encounter in the hall, and by the end of it, Pansy was squinting out of the arrow slit, a calculating look in her eye, Hermione was pacing, and Susan was writing up the minutes frantically. 

“We’ll need to start again.” Pansy said with no hesitation as she tapped her smoke against the window sill. “They’ll have studied our arguments for sure, and prepared from them. We need new ideas.”

“Can’t we tell someone?” Hermione asked, sense of justice rearing it’s read and gold head.

“No.” Pansy replied immediately. “We’ve still got the upper hand, a move like that denotes desperation, perhaps they are even counting on us to try and get the topic changed for them. We go ahead as planned, but we change a few of our points around.”

Hermione nodded sensibly. “But what,” she said, pausing for effect. “If they predicted that you would think that way, and have prepared accordingly. What if they stole our plans, safe in the knowledge that we would interpret such an act as one of desperation and go to battle with them when we are in fact, still at a disadvantage, because of the following evaluations; The Silver Bullet’s, a) are decidedly not desperate, b) have a copy of our battle plan, and c) have amassed enough large scale popularity that if the adjudication comes to a hairs-breadth they might win simply because whoever is casting the vote may or may not lose a large sum of money depending in the result.”

“I didn’t realise you knew about the bets.” Harry said, in awe.

She eyed him, and didn’t dignify his comment with a response. 

“Have we decided on a group name yet?” Susan asked pragmatically.

“I still vote the Twee Snitches.” replied Pansy.

“What does that even mean?” Hermione asked, rounding on her. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Pansy elevated a pointed eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose you could do better, provide more meaning. W.A.N.K perhaps; Women Are Now Knowing. Or something a little more social worker hmm? F.A.P, Feminists are Political.” 

“God you’re a cold bitch, Parkinson.” said Hermione. 

“Thankyou.” 

They agreed to all think of new ideas and also a revenge plan before the next meeting. Then they adjourned. 

The debate would be in three days time. Harry still wasn’t sure if he was supposed to ring the bell at four minutes, or five.

 

The next day they met in a different classroom, because now that The Silver Bullet’s had revealed their true colours, danger could be lurking anywhere. 

Harry had been banned from protecting the records and told to avoid Draco Malfoy at all costs. 

A task it seemed, that was more easily said than done.

It was as though the moment Harry had been ordered not to look at him, he was the only thing in Harry’s line of vision. Harry went for a fly, and there Malfoy was, sitting on the stand with the rest of The Silver Bullet’s, eating an apple and looking sexier than an utter git had any right to.

Harry went to the library to study, and there Malfoy was, sitting in one of the window seats, dusky sunlight illuminating him from behind like some sort of mythical creature.

And, on one notable occasion, Harry went to his dorm room; and there Malfoy was, having a casual conversation with Neville about some fire cactus that could burn a mans hand off if he touched it.

Malfoy had smiled at him, but Harry had been so shocked and awkward that he had simply fled back the way he had come from and hid in a classroom until the Marauders map showed Malfoy leaving Gryffindor tower nearly an hour later.

This crush he had was the most despicable, hopeless emotion he had ever had the horror of feeling. It woke him up sometimes, and he was never sure if he had had a dream or a nightmare, on the one hand, there was Malfoy’s general despicableness, shitty personality and gitty personage, on the other, he was very, very fit.  
And that was the part that was playing havoc with Harry’s newly discovered hormone’s. 

He remembered during the trials, watching Malfoy stand as a witness for his mother, his eyes had been steely and resolved, and Harry had wondered what it would be like to be the focus of that attention.

It was a fleeting thought that had then come back to haunt him when they had returned to school. 

He didn’t know why, he supposed he had underestimated Malfoy somewhere along the track, but he had thought that perhaps Draco would curl in on himself upon their return, become isolated, maybe even a pariah. 

And there was a small, bitter part of Harry that wished he had, that wished that Malfoy had gotten a little bit more pain, a little bit more punishment.  
Those were the darker days. 

Most of the time, he was filled with some inexplicable feeling that he recognised as fierce, unwarranted, admiration, every time he saw Malfoy walk into the hall with his head held high, or laughing with people he might never have spoken to last year, or wearing his fine clothes and still looking damn proud of who he was, Harry found himself both disgusted and impressed.

All of this melo-drama did not mean however, that Harry was above getting petty revenge for yesterdays slight against his team. 

“Right,” he said excitedly as he walked into the room. “I think we need vengeance.”

The girls nodded in agreement, and together, they formed a plan.

It was a very simple thing, waiting for proper nightfall, late enough that everyone would be asleep, sneaking around various dormitories for a while, and then heading up to the owlery. And it was no trouble at all, attaching the little red envelopes to enthusiastic birdy legs. 

The next morning, Harry woke up with something like excitement churning in his gut. 

Not only would the finalised teams be made public domain today, but The Silver Bullet’s would feel their ire. 

Beware the Twee Snitches Motherfuckers, he thought to himself idly. We will mess you up with both our witty repartee and our bloody wicked correspondence. 

There were several eighth years crowded around the hufflepuff table when Harry walked in, so he walked quickly over to his table, buttered his toast with the usual avocado and then headed over to see what was happening. As he had suspected, the finalised list of debating teams had been released with names. Of course, most of them were no secret. The Silver Bullet’s had been boasting for days, and The Twee Snitches had been far too vocal in their recruiting to remain a secret.

What did shock Harry, was the last two teams on the list. Harry, up until this moment, had been under the mistaken impression that there were only two teams entering the competition, and he had still maintained some doubts about how popular debating could be.

Clearly, if people were bored enough, the answer was quite a lot. The list read thusly;

The Official Hogwarts Co-Curricular Debating Competition Teams List

The Silver Bullet’s:  
Ernie Macmillan  
Blaise Zabini  
Zacharias Smith  
Draco Malfoy

The Twee Snitches:  
Hermione Granger  
Susan Bones  
Pansy Parkinson  
Harry Potter

The Butterfly Sisters:  
Padma Patil  
Parvati Patil  
Lisa Turpin  
Daphne Greengrass

It was possibly the last group that shocked Harry the most.

The Lads:  
Dean Thomas  
Seamus Finnegan  
Neville Longbottom  
and, holy rudding shit.  
Ronald Weasley.

“That’s most of our year level!” Harry exclaimed when he finished reading.

“Who cares about that!” cried some dismayed hufflepuff Harry didn’t care to name. “Why are the barriers between gender so extreme? We need to work together to remove awful stereotypes and promote unity between all people’s, no matter anything!”

Now that Harry looked, it was interesting that the groups had split off by gender, it wasn’t as though their grade was typically very separate in that regard, in fact, possibly due to the extreme circumstances they had all faced together, a lot of them were closer than most, and all of the groups were a good mix of both boy, girls and whatever.  
He noted then that he was the only one in a ‘mixed group’, but he didn’t really mind all that much, he couldn’t imagine being in a group with The Silver Bullet’s; who, though nice (except for Smith), were all prize toffs. Nor could he see himself getting on in The Butterfly Sisters, and honestly, who had come up with that name?  
He couldn’t see anyone getting on in The Lads, he just hoped they didn’t embarrass themselves too much. 

And god, Ron.

Why on earth had he entered? Harry couldn’t fathom it.

Ron was almost as bad at public speaking as he was. Though admittedly for different reasons. Where Harry would prepare and then freeze up terribly and make mistakes, Ron would not prepare, and then spend five minutes confidently spouting bullshit as they all sat around scratching their heads in confusion. 

That was including Snape. 

Harry vaguely remembered a lunch after one particularly perplexing presentation, Hermione had asked Ron why he didn’t consider studying or planning more, and he had grinned wide, teeth covered in cheese, and said;

“I’m secretly a genius, it’s not my fault that no one believes me.”

Harry was brought back to the present by the sound of the owls flying in. He strolled casually back to the gryffindor table, all the while looking up, trying to spot the red envelopes that would be zooming their smoky way down to four very lucky recipients. 

Zacharias Smith received his first, which made the vindictive half of Harry crow delightedly. There were not that many people that Harry took an immediate dislike to, but Zacharias Smith had rubbed him the wrong way since they’d met in fifth year.

The blonde picked up the red envelope in trepidation, an ominous gray cloud puffed from the sides. 

“Smith’s goh’ a ‘owler!” came a deeply accented voice from the ravenclaw table. 

Smith, realising his impending doom, but not knowing quite who was scolding him, picked it up and made a run for the door.

He was followed by Ernie, Blaise, and Draco who had received their own envelopes in the hubbub. 

“Twee Snitches wear the pants!” 

“Twee Snitches wear the pants!”

“Beware the Twee Snitches!” 

The howls could be heard from the great hall, and the younger students were sniggering delightedly at the morning’s excitement.

“The Silver Bullet’s DO NOT!”

And that was when the next phase of their plan began, with all four of the Bullets gone done a runner, there was no one there to sound the alarm when another pair of owls, followed directly by a laughing Peeves, entered the hall with a long piece of washing line string. Pegged to the string, was every pair of pants those poor unfortunate boys owned.

The hall was in absolute hysterics.

Juvenile, Harry thought proudly, but effective. 

The pants part had been Susan’s idea, Harry had been very impressed.

From that morning on, it seemed that the only thing likely to blossom between the Snitches and the Bullets was bad blood, gauntlets had been thrown and lines drawn, Harry, though happy to be on what he was quite sure would be the winning side, was quite bewildered to realise just how seriously this new enmity ran, and disgruntled to find himself experiencing dirty looks from Zabini, and gitty jibes from Zacharias Smith.

“We can’t let them think they’ve won.” Pansy said at their next meeting. “And Potter, I’m sorry, but for now that means no consorting with the enemy.”

“What?” said Harry, intelligently. 

Pansy sighed in a put open way and exchanged meaningful glances with the other two girls. “We are referring of course, to your crush on Draco Malfoy. Put it on hold, please.”

“I do not have a crush on Draco Malfoy!” Harry lied badly. 

Several more meaningful glances were exchanged.

“I can’t tell what the sadder prospect is; the idea that he’s just that shit at lying, or the possibility that he is in such super extreme denial.” said Pansy in mournful tones as she filed her nails.

“Harry,” Hermione said, reaching out to hold his hand comfortingly. “Do you remember that time, at the start of the year, when we all were in the hufflepuff common room playing truth or dare?”

Harry nodded. Draco had been wearing this royal blue button up shirt, and it had looked ever so nice against his lily pale skin, so much so in fact, that Harry had wanted to-

“And maybe you didn’t realise how obvious you were being, but we could all see you gawking at him, and that time when he laughed! Susan? Didn’t Harry look trancelike when Draco was laughing?”

“Oh yeah.” agreed Susan enthusiastically. “I’d forgotten about that.” She turned to Harry. “Really, I felt like I needed to avert my eyes, in romantic books they talk about ‘heated stares’, well Potter, you bring them to a whole new level.”

Harry blushed, he couldn’t really remember if he was being honest, he’d been too busy thinking about the hollow between Draco Malfoy’s collarbones. 

Oh, right. That’s what they meant then. 

“I don’t mean to!” he exclaimed. “It’s just that he’s very- well. I don’t know. Sort of captivating.”

Susan squealed and even Pansy looked as though she might have been swayed for a moment. 

“Tough luck, Potter.” she said firmly. “We all have to make sacrifices, and yours is that you will stop allowing your eyeballs to fraternise with Draco Malfoy. I am being deadly serious by the way, you don’t look at him, you don’t speak to him, you don’t even breathe in the same oxygen as him. I’ll know if you do, and I’ll flay you alive.”  
“Okay!” Harry squeaked, wondering where all that courage he presumably had was hiding. 

He supposed it had gone cowering beneath a rock the second his more moronic side had agreed to team up with three of the most formidable women in his cohort and most likely the universe. 

The meeting adjourned and they were all free to go their separate ways. Harry found himself wandering outside around the grounds. He hadn’t really realised that he had liked Draco Malfoy all that much. 

Oh, he had been well aware that he harboured something of a physical attraction for the blonde, afterall one would have to be blind to miss the clean bone structure and the sensitive, angular face. Draco Malfoy reminded him of the male models that he had seen on muggle billboards in the city, the one’s that wore fancy clothes and told you that if you bought the perfume they were selling they might smile at you.

So, beautiful, unattainable, aloof.

Too Harry, Draco Malfoy had come to represent all of the things that he couldn’t have in his life.

All of the things, that growing up, he had been on the outside of.

Like a small child, staring through a foggy window at something he couldn’t touch, Harry wanted Draco. 

And like a man, seeing something beautiful and off limits, Harry realised that he would have liked nothing more than to smash that window.

But he had promised.

And his word was good. 

The second this thought crossed his mind, it seemed that fate decided to tempt him, because-

“Oomph!” Harry huffed as he hit the ground on his arse.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter.” 

Harry looked up, and there stood Draco Malfoy, in all of his unruffled, ever cool glory.

Briefly, Harry missed the boy who in his youth couldn’t have achieved a disaffected composure if he had tried. 

But then, the war had changed them all, and in ways that nobody could have predicted.

“You ready for the debate?” Draco asked, extending a hand to pull him up.

Harry stared at him, and then grabbed the hand.

Draco hauled him to his feet and Harry was struck-dumb.

It occurred to him, that perhaps it wasn’t just a physical attraction, and that just maybe, he might have been to hasty in his promise to Pansy and-  
His promise.

He let go of Draco’s hand like it was on fire.

Nodded once, and walked away as quickly as his legs could carry him.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

 

On the night of the debate, Harry found himself down in the kitchens breathing into a paper bag.

“Master Harry should not be being so stressed!” exclaimed Kreacher as he looked on worriedly.

“Master Harry,” puffed Harry between frantic breathes. “Shouldn’t even be this anxious. I’ve only got to read the times.”

Kreacher huffed and went about preparing the water jugs that Harry had been sent down to retrieve in the first place.

“What’s the topic?” Kreacher asked slyly, passing Harry the tray.

“Oh, it’s ‘should educational institutions enroll cross-species’, I imagine it could get quite heated.”

“Hmm,” said Kreacher. “And what does master Harry think?”

“I suppose... the option should be there at least. Hermione was saying that there’s only one alternative school somewhere in Australia, that offers the same education to wizards, and elves, and werewolves and stuff.”

Kreacher looked thoughtful. “And, master Harry will tell Kreacher how it goes?”

Harry looked calculatedly at the elf for a moment. 

“Of course,” he nodded. “Say, Kreacher...” he trailed off.

“Yes master Harry?” replied the old elf.

“The water might run out you know, and that wouldn’t be good for the speakers, you wouldn’t mind coming to the debate and just... keeping an eye on things would you?”  
Kreacher couldn’t quite hide the excitement that crossed his wrinkled little face in that moment, but he quickly got control over himself, and morphed his expression into some semblance of calm. 

“Kreacher will be most honoured to do this for the debaters.”

“Lovely.” replied Harry, glad to have been correct in his assessment. If Kreacher was just one more debate nut then Harry was happy to oblige him.

And so it was that Harry Potter, timekeeper for the Twee Snitches strolled into the great hall with Kreacher of grimmauld by his side. The elf took a seat in the front row and made sure that whenever Harry looked at him, he was staring very pointedly at the water jugs. 

“Harry!” Hermione called him. “We’re about to go on!” 

He was dragged into the side room where he had been called for the tri-wizard tournament. It was exactly as grim as he remembered.

Susan was pacing nervously, and kept running her eyes over her palm-parchment. 

Pansy was smoking again, but Harry could detect a tremor in her hands if he looked closely. 

“Are you all ready?” he asked.

Susan paused, “Of course. We’re fully prepared in any case.”

Hermione nodded solemnly.

Pansy, looked up from her cigarette with a slow grin. “Potter.” she smirked. “They are not going to know what hit them.”

They waited for another five minutes, and crammed in as many last touches as possible. 

Possible rhetorics, points of information, ad lib evidence, and soul-crushing rebuttals. 

There case was strong, but their team-work was stronger.

Hermione cast several ironing charms on their robes and fussed about all of them, straightening ties and trying, fruitlessly, to flatten Harry’s hair.

“Leave it, Granger.” said Pansy, running a hand through Harry’s cow-licky curls and looking thoughtful. “Softer than I would have expected, Potter.” she said, mussing it up. “I’d be leaving it a messy, an artful one.”

Harry shrugged and made sure not to touch it. This was probably the neatest he had ever looked in his uniform. 

The door snicked and Mcgonagall entered looking grim. “Twee Snitches, the debate is starting.”

They all looked around at each other, and began filing out of the door.

“Gels,” said Mcgonagall. “I’m not supposed to choose favourites. But, it wouldn’t do to be losing meh galleons to the likes of Horace Slughorn.” 

And from Minerva Mcgonagall, that was rousing encouragement. 

They walked out into the main hall in single file. Hermione, Susan, Pansy and Harry at the back. 

The seats seemed to be filled with the vast majority of the older students, and several of the teachers had taken seats in the back. Where the staff table usually sat, there were to opposing tables with three seats each, and two lecterns in the centre for the timekeeper and chairperson. 

The Silver Bullets were already taking their seats. 

Harry realised, with some disgruntlement, that he would have to sit next to Zacharias Smith, who the Bullet’s had elected as chairperson.

Harry sat behind his lectern and made sure the timer and bell were accounted for. 

He then looked out at the massive crowd with a gulp.

He didn’t think he could get through his time keeping duties let alone anything the other were about to get into. Especially not with Professor Sinistra, who he had always been a little wary of, sitting in the centre with an adjudicators notepad and doom in her eyes. 

Zacharias stood and cleared his throat.

The crowd hushed.

“Welcome to tonights debate.” rang Smith’s reedy voice. 

“Tonight the affirmative,” here he gestured towards the Bullet’s. “And negative teams will debate the topic ‘there should not be magical schools that cater to a cross-species demographic’. A bell will be rung at one minute, three minutes, and five minutes, at which point speakers will be asked to step down.”  
Smith went on to introduce the speakers, and then finally. 

“Please rise, first speaker of the affirmative team, Blaise Zabini, and open tonights debate.

Zabini stood with the practiced calm of a politician. Expression blank, he strode confidently out to the middle of the stage.

“Imagine yourself,” Zabini began in dramatic tones. “Turned, against your will, into a werewolf.”

Several people in the audience gasped. 

“You have been attending Hogwarts, a school with a wonderful curriculum, for three years. It is where your friends are, it is a place you are familiar with, and yet. Despite the quality of the education you have so long taken advantage of, you find that many of the classes no longer apply to you. The magic is the same, it’s true. But no longer, is the fine establishment catering to your needs as a werewolf. Every month, you face the turn, and are forced to drink painful potions to get yourself through the night. Surely, by far the more appealing option is to attend a school for werewolves that not only caters to these needs, but understands them? Surely, it is far preferable, to attend a school where one can be surrounded by fellows, rather than people who can never, ever, fully grasp what you are going through? Good evening Witches and Gentlewizards...”

One minute. Harry rang the bell once. He looked over at his girls, all of whom were writing frantically and passing notes back and forth.

“Comrades, let it never be said that we Bullet’s are proposing that denying magical creatures of an education is the right way, no, by our model, anyone with magic is fit for a magical education. But, an elf had different magic to a wizard, and a wizard has different magic to a centaur. We see no purpose in having mixed schools that can’t possibly provide all of the information, that every different species will need access to-”

“Point of information!” cried Hermione, standing up.

“Yes?” replied Blaise smoothly.

“Can the opposition explain why offering specialised electives would not be sufficient?” asked Hermione. 

Blaise paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Well,” he began. “W-Well, naturally if the purpose of a multi-species school is for more interaction between magical  
practitioners, there will need to be core classes. Classes that, like in most schools, every student takes. At Hogwarts those subjects are rudimentary magics, such as potions and charms. What subjects pray tell, could even be an option? when, as aforementioned all creatures and species have different kinds of magic? It is frankly ludicrous that the opposition expect folk with nothing in common to learn in the same environment. The simple fact of the matter is that no subject is going to be relevant to all species, thus nullifying the purpose of the cross-species school.” 

It was a fairly weak response, mused Harry, who thought that Zabini’s answer had rather a lot of holes in it. But it had been well delivered, and Sinistra was nodding her head as though it all made sense.

Zabini finished his speech with poise and the audience cheered him enthusiastically. 

Harry stood. “Four minutes and fifty-four seconds.” he announced quickly, before sitting down again- on his hands so they would stop from shaking.

Up next was Susan. She went straight for the jugular, launching into an emotional appeal with some war-time anecdote about the dangers of segregation. 

Harry looked down at Kreacher in time to see the proud elf surreptitiously sniffle into his cape, which doubled as a tea-towel from the Black House that had an ugly coat of arms and a hole burnt into it. 

Harry rang the bell for three minutes. So far the Bullet’s hadn’t pulled any points of information. Harry wondered if it was because they were too busy preparing their rebuttals or because Susan’s argument was too flawless.

“Segregations leads to hate, and discontent; both of which are societal themes that lead to political unrest and in extreme cases war-”

Draco Malfoy stood smoothly. “Point of information.” he interrupted crisply.

Susan paused, caught off guard. “Proceed.” she affirmed.

“There has not been a cross species war for over three hundred years. Only rogues participated in the Voldemort War. So, as the muggles say, why fix what aint broke?”  
He sat down with a small smirk, his eyes remained fixed on Susan.

Who appeared to be bricking it. “Err, err-” she stumbled.

A beat of silence passed, and Harry held his breathe for her. Come on Susan, he urged in his mind. Come on. 

“Safeguarding.” Pansy hissed, low enough that no-one off stage would be able to hear her.

“Safeguarding.” Susan blurted. “We, as the negative team, see no harm in taking preventative measures. Why wait until another war to prove that we should safeguard against war? By introducing cross-species schools, we ensure that as a society there is a forged understanding between practitioners from all walks of life, with all sorts of heritages and value. We envision a world in which friendships, business partnerships and ministries can be part of an all-encompassing magical collective, rather than a world split into sectors that have little to no understanding of each other. Divided we fall.”

Harry almost clapped. Draco’s smug smile had dimmed some, and he had returned to writing furiously. Harry supposed he was their third speaker. He had learnt from Pansy during their numerous practices that the third speaker typically had to prepare the majority of their speech while the debate was taking place, or on the spot to ensure that it was relevant to the points that were brought up on the night. The third speaker had to be quick-witted and intelligent, they had to be able to think on the spot and be able to draw from a vast general knowledge to back their team’s case up relevantly. 

He could definitely see Draco Malfoy, who had aced all of his potions presentations with elegance and an appealing manner, being the third speaker.  
Next came Ernie. Harry made sure to ring the bell at all of the appropriate times, but couldn’t help but feel that this was the boringest of boring speeches so far. He didn’t have Zabini’s cool wit, or Susan’s passion. He didn’t really have much at all apart from a dry factual argument, so incredibly formal that Harry thought he could see Seamus nodding off in the audience. 

The most interesting part of the speech was when Susan gave him a point of information, he answered promptly, but in such a dull tone that most people zoned out and couldn’t tell if he had rebutted the question appropriately or not. 

Ernie went over time too. 

“Six minutes and fifty-two seconds.” Harry stated, unimpressed.

Finally, Zacharias introduced Hermione. Harry sat up straighter. 

Hermione walked slowly out into the stage. She left her parchment-cards behind and Harry grinned confidently. 

She was going to destroy them all. He could feel it in his bones.

Hermione Granger took a deep breath and surveyed the audience. 

“Mudblood.” she said simply.

Eyes widened, backs straightened, eyebrows raised. 

“Good evening Witches and Gentlewizards. The topic of tonights debate is that there should not be magical schools that cater to a cross-species demographic. As the second speaker for the negative team, I shall endeavor to prove just how this statement is inherently false. Now, tonight the affirmative team have presented a case so intrinsically flawed I doubt that the ministry of magic would touch it with a ten foot wand.” she finished drily. 

Dean Thomas whooped. 

She smiled, and continued. Rebutting each and every one of the Bullet’s carefully constructed arguments. 

Ernie looked gobsmacked. Zabini looked disaffected. Draco continued to write with fervour. 

Hermione elucidated the harmful nature of segregation, picking up where Susan left off and drawing evidence from both racial issues in the muggle world and how Hogwarts houses often treated each other simply because of ‘predestined ideals defined by the colour of one’s tie.’

She was on fire.

Harry rung the five minute bell just as she gave a small bow and sat down. 

The audience went wild.

And yes, Harry was starting to get why people had been so excited about this. 

Then Draco Malfoy, third speaker for the Bullets took the stage. 

“I suppose the opposition is very proud of themselves.” he said, crisp tone echoing throughout the vast hall. “I suppose they think that a witty repartee, the clever use of shock tactics, and a barrage of baseless emotional appeals will sway you all. Well, I suppose that depends on high naive you are, how easily manipulated.” his voice was a hypnotic staccato, only thirty seconds in and his so far clean delivery had the hall is raptures. The audience waited with bated breath, and Harry could see that in that moment, Draco Malfoy owned them all. 

“I am Draco Malfoy, and I am speaking tonight to tell you why the introduction of cross-species schools would be ineffective and a detriment to education across all strands of magic and types of practitioners. I am Draco Malfoy, and before I do so, I would like to evaluate the blatant misconceptions that have riddled the opposition’s argument tonight.”

He was captivating, Harry thought uselessly, from the palm of Draco’s hand.

Harry barely payed any attention to what Draco was saying, but he could tell that it was good from the way the hall was silent and how Hermione was gnashing her teeth together looking like she wanted to stand up and-

“Point of information!” Hermione cried passionately. 

“I accept.” replied Draco cooly.

“You’ve just stated that your team value safety, and that your team don’t believe a cross-species school would be a safe environment.”

He nodded.

“We wonder, if there is any evidence to this claim?”

He nodded again and gestured towards the audience, he spoke charmingly for a while, about a cross species school in Australia that had numerous magical accidents a year, all of which were the fault of cross-species education. 

“And so to summate,” he finished, cool as ever. “We as the affirmative team agree wholeheartedly with the opposition’s ideals of equality, peace and harmonious relations between practitioners from all walks of life, we simply believe that the way to achieve this reality is through external means. There is nothing, after all, stopping a witch or wizard right now, from sending a letter to a goblin and becoming friends. However, by forcing all species to attend the same institutions of learning, it is likely that the culture and identity that come with each group will be lost in the maelstrom, a veritable travesty, and a surefire way to destroy the pride and value of a people to boot. To destroy a people is to destroy their history. Don’t fix what aint broke.”

The applause was almost as enthusiastic as it had been for Hermione, and Harry noted that Kreacher was looking like he might swoon. 

Harry grinned, he would have to find some more excuses to keep inviting Kreacher to watch them.

The bugger was adamantly traditional and unlikely to attend unless Harry asked him to. 

Draco gave a small bow and returned to his seat. 

“Five minutes and five seconds.” announced Harry.

He sat down and tried consciously not to root for the affirmative team, he didn’t want to somehow jinx the girls. 

So far he thought the teams where rather evenly matched, Blaise and Susan had been equally persuasive, though in different ways.

Where Blaise’s professional manner had been far superior, Susan had presented better arguments. Neither of them had been particularly impressive with their points of information.

Hermione had very clearly trounced Ernie, though a lot could be said for his well structured, well-evidenced points, no matter how dull they had been to sit through.  
Draco was definitely the Bullet’s strongest speaker, and Harry found himself wondering if Draco had inherited the talent from his Father, who Harry understood had been a very powerful force in the ministry before the war, or if the skill was just a natural part of Draco being Draco. 

Harry remembered the way that Draco had always been able to capture the attention of those surrounding him, ever since they were young, simply by flicking his hair a certain way or arranging his features into a certain expression and waiting for someone to ask him what he was thinking of. 

Someone usually did.

“Introducing the third and final speaker for the negative team; Miss Parkinson, please make your case.” said Zacharias.

Harry focused his attention on the proceedings quickly.

Pansy’s speech was likely to make or break their team. 

And, Harry realised with a start, he very much wanted her to make them. When he had first agreed to act as their honorary fourth member, he had been neutral, even reluctant. But after sitting through the preparations and witnessing the Snitch’s intense devotion to winning the competition, he had come to be one of their most enthusiastic supporters. 

Of course, he would always support Hermione in whatever she did, but he would never have predicted sheering on a debate team with Pansy Parkinson on it.

Thinking of, she approached the centre of the stage with something akin to a saunter, took a short moment to send a blood-red smirk at Draco, and turned to address the audience. 

She began.

“Why, is a slytherin, like a gryffindor?” she posed. 

Mutters abound.

“Because both species,” Pansy continued, in the droll tone of one narrating a wild-life documentary. “Have long been attributed different characteristics and needs, and yet, and yet, and yet, the two can peacefully co-habitate inside the same institution. Just like, an elf and a centaur and a wizard could, if asked to try. Why, look at the cross species school that are so common in Australia; Woorabinda’s Magical Primary for the Magical Student, Sparks School for Secondary Gum-nuts, Uluru Academy. It can be done.” 

Pansy certainly wasn’t as charismatic as Draco, or as witty as Blaise, she was too curt. But there was some kind of pragmatic appeal, some indefinable knowledge that what Pansy Parkinson said made sense and was the only practical way to go about things. Her rebuttal was prompt and blood-thirsty, she wholly destroyed the affirmative team’s arguments with a kind of swift brutality and unshakable poise. 

She finished with a bomb. 

“And so to conclude I would like to rephrase the esteemed oppositions final statement; The question is not, why fix it if it aint broke, or rather, why not strengthen something that could be easily broken in the future? Thankyou.”

She gave a shallow curtsy and returned to her seat.

“Four minutes, thirty-two seconds.” said Harry.

He saw Draco Malfoy looking at him in his peripheral vision and tried not to blush or do anything embarrassing.

Zacharias stood.

“The adjudication will proceed now. Please feel free to mingle.”

A loud rumble came from the audience as people started chatting amongst themselves.

Harry stood and wandered over to the Snitch’s.

“Congratulations.” he said with a grin.

Pansy nodded. Susan smiled and gave him the thumbs up and Hermione hugged him.

Between mouthfuls of hair he managed to ask. “How do you think it will go?”

Pansy exhaled. “Either way I think. We had stronger arguments and better rebuttals, but their manner was near perfect and Sinistra has always had a soft-spot for Zabini.”  
Harry nodded. “I think you guys should win anyway.” 

“Do you now?” came a crisp voice from behind him.

He turned quickly and looked up, into the amused, pale, eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Err.” he said wisely.

“Eloquent Potter, I can see now why you joined a debating team.”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably and scrambled for something to say.

Preferably something that wouldn’t make him look slow. 

Harry actually considered himself quite intelligent sometimes, perhaps not book smart like Hermione and Draco, or determined, logical smart like Pansy. But, common sense smart, he certainly didn’t see himself as particularly inept.

“Potter.” Pansy snapped, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Team meeting. Pronto.”

He shrugged at Draco and they walked away.

Hermione and Susan were just ahead of them, heading into the chamber they had been sent to before the debate. 

They went inside and shut the door.

Susan squealed excitedly and jumped around, Hermione cackled, and Pansy lit another cigarette.

But Harry could see she was pleased from the small up-tilt by the corner of her mouth.

“Good work team.” she said. “All modesty aside, I think we’ve got this one by the skin of our teeth. Not bad Granger, that rebuttal was savage. And Susan, nice appeals.”

“Ditto, Pansy.” said Hermione.

“And cheers Potter, you didn’t stutter once.”

He grinned. And pretended like he hadn’t practiced reading times in front of the bathroom mirror that morning. Neville had walked in on him and shaken his head.

The door burst open and they all turned around somewhat defensively, but it was just Ron. 

“Hey Ron.” said Harry.

Ron smiled easily.

“Good debating.” he complimented them.

“Oh, Ronald.” said Hermione sweetly.

He walked around and put an arm around her. 

They were still in that ridiculously sappy stage of honey-moon love. Harry had spent the majority of the summer avoiding them and hanging out with Ginny.

They’d decided to stay broken up, both of them had moved on, but after only some initial awkwardness they had realised that they were much better as friends.  
Seriously, much better. 

If they avoided seeking and chasing they were a very even match in Quidditch, and so they had spent a lot of time flying about with beater bats and bludgers, trying to knock the shit out of each other.

Quidditch was a dangerous sport, what could they say. 

Ron hadn’t been too happy when he’d found out that they had broken up without telling anyone, let alone the fact that they had decided to turn Quidditch into bloodsport.

“It’s too dangerous!” he had cried. “I’ll tell mum!”

“The risk is what makes it exhilarating.” Ginny had replied fervently. “And if you tell mum... well. Two words Ronald Weasley; Striped socks.”

At that, Ron had turned a worrying shade of pale and had walked away without another word. 

Harry didn’t know what striped socks meant, but he wagered that it wasn’t something Ron wanted to be made public knowledge. 

Suddenly the volume outside increased and Hermione stood up straighter, detaching herself from Ron’s side.

“I think they’re announcing the winner!” she exclaimed.

“Let’s roll then.” replied Ron.

They trooped out and returned to their places on the stage. 

Ron went and sat back in the audience by the rest of the Gryffindor boys.

Professor Sinistra stood and made her way up to the stage also. 

“Unbeknownst to you all, I have invited two students to assist me in the adjudication tonight. They have been very helpful in evaluating the pro’s and con’s of each teams case.”

“Get on with it.” Pansy muttered lowly. 

Harry bit his lip to hide a grin and covered his mouth with his sleeve. 

“Put your hands together for Miss Luna Lovegood and The Bloody Baron.

Luna stood and curtsied prettily.

The Baron swooped down from the ceiling, startling several first years and saluting Sinistra.

“A conclusion has been come to.” Sinistra announced dramatically, waving her arms in a theatrical fashion.

“This debate goes to The Twee Snitch’s.”

They sat in shock for a moment, before leaping to their feet in excitement. 

After that, there were obligatory handshakes to make and short thankyou speeches that no one listened to.

“Room of requirement,” Pansy whispered in Harry’s ear as they made their way out of the great hall. “Eleven o’ clock. Eighth years are celebrating.”

He nodded, and let himself be swept away in the tidal wave of students making their way back to gryffindor tower. 

The common room was abuzz when he finally made his way through the portrait hole, everyone wanted to offer their congratulations to Hermione and Susan, who for some reason had decided to get ready for the party in the gryffindor dorms.

Harry decided he needed a quick break from the excitement and headed up to his room to shower. 

“Hey Nev.” he greeted Neville, who was rummaging through his trunk.

“Oh!” Neville exclaimed, he hit his head on the lid of the trunk in surprise. “Golly!”

“Are you alright?” asked Harry.

“I guess.” said Neville rubbing his head.

“If you’re sure.” replied Harry.

He gathered up his things and went into the bathroom. He locked the door, stripped off quickly and stepped inside the shower.

They had done really well, Harry mused as he lathered himself with soap. It was just a shame that Draco had to lose in order for them to win.

Not that he cared mind, debating, though rather more exciting than he could ever have predicted, still seemed a little pointless to him, all that talk, and no action. He could tell however, that Draco had been at least a little disappointed by their loss. 

His hand wandered then, and he stopped thinking so hard.

 

“You can’t have alcohol! You’re underage.” Harry heard Ron exclaim as he entered the room and walked over towards the group.

“You can’t stop me.” replied Ginny. “Besides, Harry’ll sneak me some under the table if you try.”

Two sets of fierce blue eyes focused on him.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Ron.”

“And you’re supposed to be my best friend.” Ron replied in betrayed tones. “Where’s Hermione gone? She’ll be on my side.”

“I’m right here, and Ginny can do what she wants.” she replied, coming up behind Ron and putting an arm around his waist. “Oh, do stop pouting. I remember well the things you used to drink when we were sixteen.” 

The tips of Ron’s ear went distinctively pink and Ginny laughed, before Ron could say anything she snatched the shot glass back and downed it in one swallow.  
“Zabini is looking fine tonight, don’t you think?” she asked Harry conspiratorially. 

Harry looked over at Zabini appraisingly, he was standing next to Draco.

“Very fit.” he agreed with a nod. Ron spluttered. 

“I know it’s stereo-typical and annoying, but I love that you’re gay now.” she said.

“I’m offended on behalf of my entire sexuality.” said Harry. “You disgust me, and we can no longer be friends.”

“Shut up.” replied Ginny, smacking him on the back. “You know what I meant.”

Harry grinned and grabbed a few more shot glasses from a nearby table. 

He ignored Ron for a moment and offered a green one to Ginny.

She grinned and swigged.

“Nice,” she said. “Now you can be my wingman. Let’s roll.”

“Why are we friends.” he asked as she dragged him across the room.

“Because, you love me.” she replied. 

“Ugh.” said Harry, and then. “I’m not sure why you need me to come.”

“I don’t.” she replied as they reached their destination.

Zabini looked them up and down. Focusing briefly on their joined hands. 

Ginny, apparently noticing the same thing, dropped Harry’s palm like it was a hot coal. 

“Zabini.” she said. 

“Weasley.” Zabini greeted.

“You’re fit. I’m fit. Wanna make out?”

Zabini raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite forward of you.”

“Yes or no.” said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright.” he said taking the hand that had previously held Harry’s.

Ginny winked at Harry once before they swanned from the room, and Harry found himself shaking his head incredulously. 

Only Ginny. 

“Did you want anything Potter?” 

Oh, right. Malfoy had been standing there too. 

“Malfoy.” he said, and then coughed awkwardly.

He caught sight of Susan over Draco’s shoulder, she was staring at him, running a finger across her neck in a ‘you’re dead’ motion. 

“Potter?” asked Draco.

Harry made some desperate excuse about a situation involving an elf and some cheesecake and then left. Quickly. 

“Harry!” he heard Ron call. 

He turned to face his friend, and required the room to shield him from Draco’s vision. 

He didn’t really want to leave the party after all, but it would be rather rude if he left Draco thinking that Harry was leaving, and then hanging around for a few more hours.  
He looked over at Draco, who was staring at where Harry had just been standing perplexedly. 

Oops. 

“Yes Ron?” he asked.

“Come celebrate!” he said, holding up a bottle of fire-whiskey.

Harry rolled his eyes, honestly, Ron was going to have a liver failure by the time he was nineteen.

He strolled over and slumped into the bean-bag next to Ron’s. 

“Drink?” asked Ron, still holding the bottle up.

“Fine.” agreed Harry, grabbing it from him. “Just a little bit.”

 

“Famous. Last. Words.” Hermione groused some time later as she stared down at her best friend with something like resigned disappointment. “I truly worry for todays youth.” 

Pansy, who had crept up behind her, snickered. “It’s funny, because I swear to Merlin, Ronald has drunk three times as much as Harry and he’s still completely sober and playing chess with Draco like a pro.”

“I know!” exclaimed Hermione. “But I’m not all that impressed with him right now, leaving Harry on his own like this. He knows Harry is pretty much a one drink wonder.”  
“Oh,” replied Pansy casually. “Potter can handle himself.”

“Only because he’s sleeping.” said Hermione.

“He’s just resting his eyes, I’ll sort him, you go make sure they don’t start the game without us.”

Hermione sighed, and ran a soothing hand across Harry’s forehead. He scrunched his nose up in his sleep and nuzzled into the touch.

“That’s adorable.” said Pansy. “Now shoo.”

Hermione wandered on over to the remaining part-goers, leaving Pansy to make sure Potter didn’t vomit and die in his sleep.

“Alright Potter,” she began, standing above the bean-bag sensibly. “Time to wake up. We’re going to play a game.”

Harry did not respond.

“Merlins bollocks!” she exclaimed, kneeling down to poke him in the cheek. “Potter, wake up.”

No response. 

“Draco has his shirt off.” she whispered slyly into Harry’s ear.

“Wha...” said Harry sleepily, blinking himself awake. “What?”

“Nothing, Potter.” she said. “We’re starting a game, you in?”

“Who’s playing? What time ‘s it?” he asked blearily. The alcohol he had consumed earlier was even then running through his blood, and the pleasant buzz of intoxication lingered still. 

“Most everyone has left, it’s around two. It’s just... me and you, Granger, Weasley, Draco, Finnegan, err.. Zacharias and one of the Patils, I’m not sure which. Oh, and Susan is passed out on a couch, but we tried to wake her before, she’s out.”

“Hmm.” mumbled Harry.

“So,” said Pansy impatiently. “Are you in?”

Harry blinked up at her. “What are we playing.”

“Paranoia.” replied Pansy.

“Oh,” said Harry, not having heard of it. “I guess I’m in.”

“Fantastic.” 

Pansy dragged him and his beanbag over to the small circle of people who had decided to play.

“Back from your elvish, cheese cake adventure I see?” said Draco when he sat down.

“Err... yup.” said Harry, cheeks a little hot.

“My god, you’re such a lightweight.” tutted Hermione. “One shot and he’s sozzled. Savior of the wizarding world everyone.”

There was a round of snickering, Harry dropped his head back and hid his face in the bean-bag. The bean-bag that he had decided was very comfortable. The bean-bag, that he was going to live in forever.

“F’ruvr.” he mumbled. 

He barely heard the others laughing. They were back-ground noise in his bean-baggy heaven. 

“The rules.” Pansy announced. “Are simple.”

“Makes it easier for all you gryffimbeciles to understand.” snarked Draco.

Zacharias whooped. 

“Shut up.” said Ron. “Wanker.”

“The rules.” Pansy repeated. “Are important, so shut up and listen.”

There was some general shit-kickery before Hermione managed to hush the group down with threats of alcohol vanishment.

“The person, to your right, will whisper a question. You will answer with someone’s name from this circle, and you will answer honestly. I’ve made sure of it.” she said, tapping her wand. “If anyone in the group wants to find out the question after hearing the name, they have to drink. Sound good?”  
There was agreement from the group, and so the game began. 

Pansy whispered a question in Seamus’s ear, and after a moment he proudly declared. “Ron Weasley.”

Of course, Ron immediately took the challenge and drank a shot. Pansy, with some glee, revealed her question. “Who, in your opinion, is the most gullible idiot in the room.”

“Oii!” Ron shouted, whacking Seamus in the face with a convenient pillow. 

Seamus cackled madly. “Sorry mate, if it’s any consolation, Harry was a close second.”

“I am not more gullible than Harry!” exclaimed Ron indignantly.

If Harry had been more coherent, he probably would have put in some word of defense for himself. As it happened, he couldn’t have been less bothered. 

“I don’t know Ron...” said Hermione dubiously.

Thankyou Hermione, Harry thought.

“Oho! Are you kidding. I once told Harry that there were magical koala’s that inhabit magical forests and drop down to claw off the faces of people with black hair. And he didn’t go near trees without checking them for months!”

Harry still didn’t go near tree’s without checking them.

Ron Weasley, loyal friend? Harry’s arse.

“Oh my god,” said Pansy, between snickers. “That’s priceless.”

“S’not!” said Harry, feeling it was time that he contribute to the conversation.

“Yes dear.” replied Hermione.

His new best friend Hermione.

“Alright,” said Pansy. “Your go, Seamus.”

The irish boy whispered in Hermione’s ear and she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Pansy Parkinson.” she said. 

Surprisingly, it was Draco who drunk.

“Thankyou darling.” said Pansy, who didn’t like to consume alcohol all that often.

Draco saluted her, and chugged back a shot.

“Who,” said Seamus. “Is the hottest person in the room-” 

“Oii!” exclaimed Ron again.

“Besides Ronald.” Seamus finished. 

“Granger!” said Draco. “That was unexpected.”

Hermione smirked, and leant over to whisper in Ron’s ear. 

“Hermione Granger.” Ron said, turning red as a beet.

“I am not drinking for that!” cried Padma.

“Some things, you just don’t want to know.” replied Seamus.

Ron leaned towards Draco, who was reclined in a leather chaise above him, and whispered a question.

“... Harry Potter.” said Draco, gritting his teeth.

Ron laughed raucously, and if Harry had been more cognizant he would have drunk. As it were, he would regret not doing so in the morning.

“Any takers?” asked Ron, with a wide, face-splitting grin. 

“I’ll drink.” said Pansy, “But I only want you to tell me, after the game.”

“Deal.” said Ron.

“Not fair.” shouted Seamus.

“We should spice things up.” Susan said in her sleep.

“I’m with her.” agreed Seamus.

“Don’t mess with my game, Finnegan. I won’t take kindly to it.” warned Pansy.

“Pooh.” said Seamus, maturely. 

“Ugh.” replied Pansy, as she lit up a cigarette.

“I propose, that we add some dares.” declared Seamus. “All in favour say aye?”

A chorus of aye’s sounded around the circle.

“So, if the question, implies an action, say a snog, or a dance, or whatever, then someone else can drink to make it happen.”

“Sounds good.” said Padma. 

“Next?” suggested Pansy.

Draco leant over to Zacharias and whispered his question.

Zacharias, immediately blushed a pale pink, right down his neck.

“Right bunch of blushers y’all are!” exclaimed Seamus boisterously. 

“Shut it.” responded two or three people. Blushers, the lot of them.

“Harry Potter.” muttered Zacharias amidst the hubbub.

“What was that Smith?” asked Pansy.

“Harry Potter.” he repeated, lower still.

“Oh I have to hear this.” cackled Hermione, who often revealed a secret mean streak when she had had a few drinks. 

“Babe,” said Ron. “That’s so bitchy. I love it.”

Hermione skulled some ice-scotch that Seamus had snuck in from Hogsmeade.

“If you could kiss anyone in this room,” said Draco slowly and with drama. “Who would it be.”

“Not very creative.” sniffed Pansy.

“But fucking hilarious.” shouted Seamus. “I thought you hated Harry!”

“I’m daring them.” said Padma.

“What!?” said Draco. 

“I want to see it, I’m taking a shot.”

“Kinky.” said Seamus. “I like it.” he added with a wink.

“Harry is not sober enough to consent!” exclaimed Hermione.

“I’m sober!” Harry argued, before realising that this could mean he might have to snog Smith.

“Potter.” said Draco sagely. “Is utterly spifflicated.”

“Doesn’t matter.” said Padma, quickly throwing back a nip. “Pucker up, Potter.”

Harry watched on with some trepidation, as Zacharias, who was still an interesting shade of pink, shuffled past Padma over to his bean-bag, then leaning forward, he touched his lips to Harry’s.

Actually, it wasn’t so bad, he thought. Much better than that wet one with Cho, dryer and pleasanter and, was that a tongue? It was a tongue! Kissing was good, and fun, even if one was doing it with a git like Smith, and-

He could distinctly hear Draco clearing his throat, and several whoops around the room. 

He pushed Smith back gently and their mouths detached with a small wet sound. 

Smith was looking at him with wide eyes. Harry, who noticed suddenly that the world was spinning around rather a lot. Dropped back against the bean-bag bonelessly and stared at the ceiling. 

He ignored the hollers, and Zacharias’s side eyes. 

“Next!” shouted Pansy.

“Revenge.” said Zacharias snootily, sending a greasy at Padma before leaning over.

Padma gasped. “Don’t be a pervert Smith, we were being perfectly clean.”

“She says after making me snog that great lump.” snapped Zacharias dourly.

“Change the question. I’m uncomfortable.” said Padma.

“No.” replied Zacharias.

“Fine,” said Padma, a wicked grin making it’s way across her face. “Padma Patil.”

“That’s cheating!” Zacharias exclaimed.

“It’s not.” replied Pansy. “She’s telling the truth, I spelled it that way, remember.”

“I’m shotting it.” laughed Seamus as he filled another shot glass with some fire-whiskey and knocked it back in one gulp. 

“Who,” began Zacharias. “In this room, would you like most to get off.”

There was silence, while Padma too, experienced the blush bug, and then the whole group besides Harry and Zacharias fell back into side-splitting laughter.

“My god.” said Pansy. “Genius.”

The conversation fell away from the game for a few minutes, and Harry looked around the group blearily, there was another shot already sitting on the small coffee table, and Harry was feeling rather thirsty, so he reached out to grab it, but a hand grasped his wrist.

Harry looked up.

“I think you’ve had enough.” said Draco.

“I’ve only had thiss much.” said Harry, indicating with his hand how very little he had consumed.

“Yes.” agreed Draco kindly. “And as it turns out, alcohol affects us all in very different ways. Here, have some of my water.”

He held out a small flask, and Harry looked at it suspiciously for a moment before sniffing it once.

No odd odors. 

He glared at Draco for a second.

“I’ll try some, then you’ll know it’s-”

Harry took a mouthful. And then another mouthful. It was just cool water. Very refreshing, cool water.

“M’not s’posed to be talking to you.” said Harry.

“Oh?” replied Draco with an amused smile. “Why not.”

“Just... cus. Stuff.” responded Harry knowledgeably. 

“Ahh.” Draco took the flask back.

Harry didn’t look at his lips wrapping around the opening, nor did he stare as the muscles in Draco’s neck moved as he swallowed.

It wouldn’t have been polite.

“Who’s next?” piped Seamus suddenly.

“Me!” said Padma excitedly. “Budge up, Harry.” she said, as she plopped herself down next to him.

Her long hair tickled his face as she leant in and he giggled. 

He wasn’t precisely sure why, but that tickling business seemed funny.

“Who do you love most in the world.” she whispered.

“In the world?” he whispered back loudly. The whole group, who could hear him clearly, leaned forward.

“Mione and Ron, o’ course.” he said to the group in general.

“Anyone want to know?” asked Pansy.

“It’s too obvious,” replied Draco. “It’ll be something incredibly hufflepuff, like ‘who is you best friend forever, and ever, and ever, and ever-”

“Bugger off, Malfoy.” said Zacharias without heat.

“But what if tisn’t?” asked Seamus ominously. “In his drunken stupor he could be admitting anything- and now we all know what a kinky sod Patil is-”

“Hey!”

“-it might be an orgy thing, or a secret sex thing, or-.”

“Seamus, you are such a massive tit.” replied Ron.

“And the massive tit,” shouted Seamus, standing up on his stool precariously. “Takes a shot!”

He gulped down his shot and then threw the empty glass at the stone wall.

“Seamus!” scolded Hermione as it shattered and dropped to the stone floor in a jaggedy mess.

Padma laughed at him. “All that for nothing. It was just a sweet one.”

“You disappoint me Patil.” replied Seamus. “But do tell.” he said, raising a lascivious eyebrow.

“Who do you love most in the world?” she repeated softly to the group.

“Mione and Ron.” said Harry again, who had quite forgotten that Ron had tricked him about the evil koalas and that Hermione could be a bit of a bitch when she was drinking. “They’re the best people on the entire planet.” he whispered to himself and the bean-bag. 

It was merely coincidence, that the group of eighth years gathered for an over-time party in the early morning, heard him too.

There was a brief silence, and then Pansy, who was quite allergic to emotional scenes, shuffled them along.

“Alright Potter, ask me your question.” she ordered.

Harry, who wasn’t really much of a creative when sober, tried to think of some of the truth or dares he had seen in a magazine at the doctors office with Petunia once.

“If you,” he began, leaning forward. “If- you’re perfume s’really nice.”

“Thanks, Potter.”

“Really nice.” he repeated. 

“My god.” said Hermione. “I should have put him to bed.”

“He’s fine.” replied Pansy. “Go on, Potter. The question.” she reminded.

Harry stopped sniffing her neck. “If you were stuck on an island, who would you want to help you escape.”

“Wouldn’t I just use my wand.”

“You don’t have a wand.” he replied exasperatedly, everyone knew how these scenarios were, they were impossible. They had to be, that was the point.

“I would never not have my wand.” insisted Pansy.

“S’not the point.” he argued. “Who would you want to help you escape.”

“Hermione Granger,” Pansy said out loud. 

Hermione quickly drank for the question.

Harry, no longer in any state to answer, let Pansy do so, before falling asleep again.

He listened to the fading sounds of his friends bickering as he drifted off pleasantly.

“What!” exclaimed Draco haughtily. “Not me? I’m your best friend.”

“And you whine a lot darling, I do not want to be trapped with you on an island- Oh my skin! Oh it burns! My legs hurt, Pansy! I’m dying, Pansy! Like, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I wouldn’t be like that.” replied Draco grumpily.

“You’re like that when we go out onto the grounds on the weekends, Draco. Forgive me for not believing you...”

Oblivion took Harry then, and when he woke up, he was lying on top of his made bed in gryffindor tower. 

“Oh my gods.” Harry said to Hermione over his bacon and eggs the next morning. “What the hell happened last night.”

“Don’t you worry.” she replied mysteriously, her smile was fond.

 

Debate III - Harry Potter v Hamlet

“I won’t do it.” said Harry stubbornly. 

“Now Harry,” wheedled Slughorn somewhat desperately. “I need you! Hogwarts needs you!”

“You most certainly do not, and Hogwarts can stuff it.” replied Harry. 

Slughorn placed an affronted hand to his breast and gasped. 

“Harry Potter!” cried Slughorn. “You’re mother played a leading role in every one of my christmas plays! Lily was wonderful, and you, her only son-”

“I refuse.” said Harry staunchly. He could feel the eyes of his classmates boring into him, and wished that Slughorn had chosen another time to accost him, such as outside of class time. “I have stage fright.”

“Oh, all the best actors do.” Slughorn demurred. 

“What’s the play?” he asked, trying another tack. 

“Hamlet.” Slughorn said.

“Cheerful.” Harry replied sarcastically. “He’d actually read that one, it had been one of Dudley’s textbooks a few years back, once Big D had decided that it was too advanced for him, it had landed in the trash like all of the other things he grew tired of. Harry, who had thought the picture of the boy holding the skull looked kind of cool, had taken it, and read the entire thing in one night under his covers.

Very relatable bloke, that Hamlet.

“So you’ll do it!?” asked Slughorn excitedly.

“No.” replied Harry. 

“But-” The old man’s chin wobbled a little. 

“I can help out like, behind the scenes. But I cannot act.”

“Well, if that’s what you want.” sighed Slughorn, woebegone and doubtful.

“It is.” replied Harry curtly. “Now if you don’t mind.” he said, gesturing towards his potion.

“Of course Mr. Potter.” replied Slughorn sadly. He wandered back to his desk.

“That was brutal.” whispered Ron.

“Shut it.” groused Harry.

“I thought he was going to cry at one point.” guffawed Ron. 

“I’m already busy with the debating,” said Harry grouchily. “And actual school-work. I’m not made of time.”

“Of course not.” replied Ron with a shit-eating grin. “You have fun in that play won’t you?” 

“And how’s your speech going Ron? Well I hope.” Harry snarked.

Round two of the debates would be in two nights. The Lads versus the The Butterfly Sisters.  
“I think,” said Ron enigmatically, and looking at his potion with unwarranted superiority. “That the results may surprise you.”

Bang! The cauldron exploded.

Harry sniggered.

As it turned out, the results of round two debating did not get to surprise him, because they coincided with Slughorn’s first rehearsal for the christmas play.

Harry was happy to find that Luna had also been personally roped into attending, and so he made his way down to the dungeons with her. 

“Seen any nargles lately?” he asked.

“Oh Harry. Don’t try so hard.” she had replied breezily.

“Err. Okay. How’s school going then?” he tried again.

“Very good thankyou. It’s ever so nice not to have people make fun of me all the time, of course, it’s only because of the war. They still don’t like me very much, or understand. Not like you and the others.”

“Right.” said Harry, for some reason Luna’s candor always put him slightly off centre, even though he liked her very much.

He supposed it was because she often spoke very airily about things that he himself was still insecure about. He doubted he would ever have the guts or the ambivalence to casually discuss people hating him for no reason. He had always wanted people to like him, still did. It was only his pride that stopped him from becoming a crawler.

“Are you auditioning?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Luna. “And I, of ladies most deject and wretched...” she said in forlorn tones.

“You’ll get it.” said Harry. “For sure.” 

She smiled at him. “You’re not auditioning are you?” she asked.

“No, just helping out.” he replied. 

“That’s nice, I can’t really see you as much of an actor.” said Luna. “Harry Potter is too honest.” she added in earnest tones.

Harry grinned, and felt a bit better about not being so good at the whole on-stage thing. 

They reached the room Slughorn had advised all interested parties to come to, a cavernous space in the dungeons, with a small stage near the front of the classroom, and one entire wall made of glass that looked out into the murky lake.

“Harry! And Miss Lovegood!” Slughorn exclaimed mid conversation, he left the group he had been addressing and waddled over to them. “So glad to see you both here.”

Harry smiled politely and Luna gave a shallow bow.

“Right,” said Slughorn. “Let’s begin.”

 

The auditions were... interesting to say the least. Harry watched on with the unsettling fascination of one witnessing a car crash, for once, his hero complex was not so prevalent that he deigned drag anyone from the flames.

“No, no, no!” shouted Slughorn. “Enunciation! Speak clearly, this is Shakespeare, not survival of the cavemen!”

“Merlin.” muttered Harry under his breathe. 

Slughorn, had turned out to be a pickier director than anyone could have predicted. So far, the only audition Slughorn had been grudgingly impressed by was Luna’s. She had been immediately cast as Ophelia, and so now was sitting in the audience with Harry, simply watching the process.

Then Draco Malfoy entered stage left. “To be,” he said in cool tones. “Or not to be.”

Harry was reminded with vague distaste of a young, annoying Malfoy. The boy who had so often boasted his brilliance and hammed up any accomplishment. 

The performance was good, no doubt. Harry would be surprised if Malfoy hadn’t just bagged himself the role, but the smug look of superior satisfaction he was radiating kind of grated on Harry’s last nerve. 

You’re awful, Harry mused as Draco took a bow to a small, yet rousing round of a applause, I kind of like it.

Slughorn, who had apparently gone into rapture’s, was making his way up to the stage to clap Draco on the back.

“And that,” he said in enchanted tones. “Is how true thespians do it in the theatre. Welcome to the christmas show Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry watched on, in both fascination and disgust, as Malfoy veritably sauntered from the stage, looking for all the world as though he was the cat that had caught the cream.

He winked at Harry on the way out, cheeky bugger, and Harry pretended that he didn’t see.

“So,” Harry asked Slughorn as everyone filed out of the room. “What am I supposed to do.”

“Well,” muttered the portly professor. “I rather hoped you would change your mind.”

Harry eyed him blankly.

“No? Oh well, nevermind. Can’t blame an old theatre bug for trying.” Slughorn chortled.

“My duties sir?” Harry sometimes felt a pang of guilt over how short he was with Slughorn, but then the man would say something far more idiotic than he had the last time he had spoken and all of Harry’s good intentions would turn to dust. 

“Well, I’ll put you in charge of the set. Construction, painting, hands on work m’boy. Can you handle it?” 

Harry nodded. Making a few wooden trees was a far superior option to being guilt-tripped into reading lines, in front of people. 

“Thankyou sir, that’ll be good.”

 

“So,” he asked, upon returning the the gryffindor common room. “Who won?” 

Hermione, who was sitting with a book in her usual place by the fire, looked up with a wry expression and said. “You can’t tell?”

Harry took a moment to actually observe the common room. 

Someone, he had his bets on Dean and Ron, had covered the room in red and gold silly string. 

There were several parchment cards floating about the ceiling and shouting several creative catch-phrases such as;

“Boo ya!” and “Lads rule!”

The pink lady, was cowering in the corner of her frame, clearly trying her utmost best to avoid unwanted advances from a crudely spray painted stick figure of Seamus.

“Oh.” he said with surprise.

“Indeed.” Hermione agreed, raising an eyebrow before returning to her study.

“Where are they all?” he asked.

“They left to celebrate a while ago, same deal as last time.” she replied, without bothering to look up again.

Harry, who when the mood struck him, quite enjoyed being a little shit, smirked before asking. “Watcha reading?”

“None of your beeswax, Potter.” she replied.

“Sounds interesting.” he mused. “I always wanted to read a book about the beeswax that didn’t belong to me.”

She glared. “I’m reading, go amuse yourself somewhere I can’t hear you.”

Harry grinned and saluted her cheerfully. “Aye aye.” he said, before turning and heading up the stairs to the boys dormitory. 

He changed into his pajamas slowly and crawled into his bed, it was raining outside and so Harry found himself enjoying the simple pleasure of wrapping himself up in warm sheets and knowing that he was safe from the cold. 

His thoughts slowly wandered, and he found himself remembering Slughorn’s mention of his mother being involved in the christmas plays, had she liked theatre then? Had she been a good actress? Or had she been involved because it was something she did with friends?

What was his Mother like? 

Harry didn’t know. As a child he had imagined both of his parents to be paragons of virtue, they had been dream-people who might one day return from some shadowy abyss to rescue him from the dark. 

Seeing Snape’s pensieve memory, had thoroughly disillusioned him, at least in the case of his father.

Lily Evan’s though...

He hadn’t had a lot of time to learn about her, people had always been talking about his father, but very suddenly Harry felt an all-encompassing, heart-wrenching desire to know his mother. 

She had green eyes, Harry thought as he drifted off, like mine. 

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered, but what else?

 

Interlude: Draco Malfoy v His Stupid Crush

 

“What on earth is he doing?” Draco muttered, one eye on his potion and the other watching on in bafflement as Potter, like a man possessed, sat on the floor at the front of the classroom and went through the cupboards. “I don’t think those one’s have been opened in a century.” Draco exclaimed with some incredulity. 

“I heard from Daphne, who heard from Nott, who heard from a house-elf named Miffy, who was in the library and heard from Granger, who heard directly from Potter, obviously, that he’s looking for some capture-globes. Slughorn said he had some with Lily Evans in them, but he wasn’t sure where they were.”

Draco snorted. “I wish him luck then.”

“Do you?” Pansy inquired, raising a lazy brow and stirring her cauldron casually.

“Of course.” said Draco.

“Really?” pressed Pansy.

“Well,” replied Draco. “Admittedly, it does rankle a touch that Slughorn is letting him off today’s lesson so that he can go treasure hunting for a relic that could easily have been destroyed years ago, but I’m not bitter.” 

“Of course not.” said Pansy. 

Draco scowled and returned to his potion. They were supposed to be working in pairs, but because Potter had decided to go off on his merry lonesome to the front of the classroom and Pansy had ditched him, Draco did not have a partner. 

Neither did Pansy really, Longbottom, who had sat down next to her at the start of the lesson and stuttered out that he didn’t know anything but could he please work with Pansy, surely did not count.

Pansy, much to Draco’s disgust, had nodded, and then hid a very un-pansy-like smile behind her hair when she had looked down at her text book for instruction.

They were about fifty minutes into the one hundred and twenty minute lesson when Potter finally decided that the capture-globes he was looking for were unlikely to have been hidden in old ingredient cupboards. 

Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Potter packed everything back into the shelves, rather more neatly than they had been before, and tried not to do an extra, fatal, counter stir in his melancholia tincture. 

“Malfoy.” came Potter’s voice. 

Draco consciously smoothed his expression into one of cool detachment before looking up and pretending to himself that he had not tracked Potter making his way over. 

“Potter.” he replied. 

“Err. All the others have pairs, d’you mind?” 

Draco let him stew for a moment. Potter shuffled his feet a little and his hand twitched upwards, as if he were going to run it through his hair (as Draco had seen him do when he was nervous), but had stopped himself at the last moment. 

“Not at all.” replied Draco politely.  
Potter gave him a quick smile, and he put his books down. Draco turned back to his books, but not without noticing the defiant look Potter shot off in Pansy’s direction.

He would ask her what that was all about later.

Draco added some beelzebubbles to his tincture and left it to simmer. Perfect.

 

The rest of the term passed by in a flurry of rehearsals and Bullet meetings, and Draco watched with some satisfaction as winter made her way across the grounds, leaving a trail of frost and snow in her icy wake. Soon, the elves were seen to be decorating, the students caroling and the half-giant groundskeeper dragging pine trees into the castle for ornamentation.

Harry Potter, Draco noted, could often be seen out of doors, wrapped snug in his thick house scarf, dear little nose pink from the frost, playing snow games with his friends.

There was however, one member of the castle who was not exactly feeling the joy of christmas.

“Students!” bellowed Slughorn theatrically, wiping his sweaty brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “We have just three days until the christmas feast! We cannot afford to be wasting time! My reputation is at stake here!”

Draco rolled his eyes. The play was going astoundingly well for one under such poor direction. 

Luna was a suitably waifish Ophelia.

Finnegan and Thomas, who had joined late, made a very convincing pair as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern respectively.

Slughorn had somehow convinced the bloody baron to play the dead king. 

Several younger students whose names Draco had not bothered to learn had filled the remaining roles with adequate panache.

Even Potter, who had been charged with constructing a set, had done admirably well; he had commandeered a ramshackle team of misfits, including a house-elf named Kreacher, Dennis Creevey, and first year Pepper Parkinson (who Draco had been scared of since probably forever), and together they had built some very quaint looking backgrounds. 

Further to this, there was of course, Draco, he doubted that anyone had ever executed such a rousing performance of the role, or made such a handsome Hamlet.

"This above all: to thine own self be true." Draco said softly under his breathe.

“What?” 

Draco startled, and then looked up. Oh, Potter.

“Nothing.” he said.

“Sorry,” Potter apologised awkwardly. “I thought you said something.”

Draco kept his eyes on the stage action. Luna was being warned by Smith (or Laertes, her brother), to stay away from Hamlet. It was fascinating stuff, though Draco did wonder how Smith had weaseled his way into a leading role. A leading role whose job it was to thwart Draco.

“Why are you here?” he asked Potter.

“Like... on this planet or in this school?” Potter responded.

Draco rolled his eyes so hard they might have been inclined to fall out of their sockets and travel across the stage.

“No, why are you in the wings?” he corrected curtly.

“Oh, Slughorn wants us to start watching for scene changes os we can run on when it goes black and swap out props.”

Well, Draco supposed that was fair enough really. Potter’s team had only just finalised painting all of the props and backgrounds, they hadn’t had a chance to do a full run though with them yet. Although, Draco was quite partial to the eerie wooden skull that Potter had somehow carved himself.

Draco sniffed.

“And as much as I hate to ask you this, I think we need to get a start on our project soon. Can we meet up in the library this afternoon or something?”

Draco sniffed again. Eight weeks ago Slughorn had split the class into pairs for their last assessment projects in the semester. Pansy had abandoned him, and so Draco had been, tragically, left to group up with Potter.

By mutual agreement they had procrastinated until they could procrastinate no more. But with three days until the assignment was due, Draco was regretting both leaving the assignment until the last minute, and giving Potter the chance to be the mature one who suggested they get a move on. 

“Fine,” he agreed. “But not the library. We’ll meet at four by the lake.”

“Alright.” said Potter. 

Draco nodded once, and then sauntered out onto the stage, the trumpets were blaring and he had a ghost to wait for.

 

Draco returned to the slytherin common room with Pepper Parkinson in tow. 

“So,” he said. “How’s school goin-”

“Don’t talk to me.” Pepper replied. 

“Okay.” Draco acquiesced. 

They continued the walk silently. 

“I wish Pansy didn’t make me baby-sit you all the time.” Pepper said, looking up from under dark bangs.

“I wish Pansy didn’t make me baby-sit you all the time.” Draco replied.

“I don’t need baby-sitting!” Pepper exclaimed, indignant. “I am too full of dark menace.”

“You are too cute to be menacing.” replied Draco carelessly.

She scowled. “I’m not cute.”

“Pig-tails beg to differ.” he replied in a sing-song voice, eyeing her plaits with a raised brow. 

“I will roast your spleen.” she muttered. 

Draco snorted. “Doubt it.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenged.

“Yeah.” Draco replied. 

She turned and punched him in the stomach once before running away in the general direction of the dormitory.

“Oof!” he exclaimed, holding a hand to his stomach. “You little sneak!” 

He ran after her.

“Muggle’s aren’t so bad!” he said quickly.

The stone wall shifted and he entered the dungeon. 

He looked around for Pepper with narrowed eyes and revenge in his heart.

“Oh Draco?!” a smug voice called.

He turned to face the source and scowled. Pepper had immediately taken up besides Pansy, and they were sat together on their usual chaise.

He strolled over calmly. Comforting himself with thoughts of the spiders he would be sneaking into the first year dormitory later. 

Pepper grinned victoriously. 

“Hullo Draco,” greeted Pansy. “How was rehearsal?”

“It was very good sister.” interrupted Pepper. “Draco tried to flirt with Harry Potter, but he’s so socially inept that Harry Potter didn’t even notice.”

“I did not!” exclaimed Draco.

“Did too!” replied Pepper.

“Children, children. Calm down.” Pansy said, smiling proudly at her sister.

Pansy looked up at him and Pepper poked her tongue out.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I wasn’t.”

“He was.” Pepper argued. “They’re meeting on the grounds later.”

Pansy smiled. “Oh are they?”

“For our potions project.” said Draco, sitting down in one of the high-back arm-chairs, resting his legs on a nearby footrest and crossing them at the ankles. “How much have you done?” 

“Nearly all of it,” she said. “Longbottom is a surprisingly dedicated student.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” muttered Draco. “We haven’t started.”

“Draco!” Pansy exclaimed, kholed eyes widening. “It’s due in three days.”

“I know.” Draco groaned. He had never been the type of student who could routinely, or ever, leave school-work until the last minute. He far preferred doing the work the moment he got it and then spending the rest of his time leisurely and stress-free. 

This was something of a culture-shock.

“Why haven’t you started?” Pansy asked. 

“I don’t even know.” said Draco.

Truthfully, it had just always seemed like a bad time, and Potter had not seemed stressed, so Draco hadn’t wanted to come off like a nag. But now, his gut was churning at the thought of handing in sub-par work and he wished he had broached the topic whilst they had been forced together in one of the numerous class activities they had worked on. 

“Well,” replied Pansy. “You’d better get a move on.” 

Half an hour later found Draco walking through the halls with a bag full of his best potions books. Who’s Your Daddy? The First Potioneers and their Wildest Theories by Kimberly Crumble, 501 Must Use Ingredients for the Aspiring Potions Master by Grunhilda Burnham, and his personal favourite, Curationum Medicamenta; Miracle Elixirs and Marvelous Draughts by Ace Hawkwood. 

It was a first edition publication, and had been gifted to him by his father they year he had expressed an interest in the healing disciplines. 

As he made his way out on the grounds he realised that he was glad of his scarf and cloak. The outdoors were rather colder than he had expected they would be.

Potter hadn’t arrived yet, so he sat down on a pale rock and looked out at the lake. 

The sky was overcast, and the lake was darkened by the shadows or clouds overhead, still, Draco did not think it would rain, and he had always been comforted by bad weather. 

He pulled some parchment from his satchel and began writing a list of things they could do their extended experimental investigation on. 

Eye of Dragon?

Fermented Fairy Dust?

Effervesced Oakplant Sprig?

The list was endless. 

“Isn’t that a hallucinogenic?” came Potter’s voice in askance.

“Which one?” Draco asked without looking up.

Potter tapped a sun-kissed finger to where Draco had neatly written a dot point about fermented fairy dust next to a caricature of a fairy giving the two fingered salute after being stabbed by a pair of tweezers and drained of it’s sparkle-blood.

“Technically it’s illegal,” said Draco. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t research it. For knowledge purposes.”

Draco said cooly. Even though he would rather die than do anything as low-class as shoot-up on a dose of dust. That type of unlawfulness was for extreme potion-addicts. Draco, like the clown man in the bat film Pansy had dragged him to, considered himself a better class of criminal.

Or really, just a law abiding citizen who once did an illegal thing and now had street cred he didn’t need and a reputation he didn’t want. He was technically a good boy who had earned himself a bad-boy image that had only come about because of his father making unfortunate alliances with unfashionable lords that, like most warlock bike gangs, had a disturbing penchant for tattoo’s and black clothing. 

If you were to ask Draco the entire robing situation had been a travesty. No one had any respect for emo-types who dressed dark. The far more menacing clothing combination was high fashion coloured silks mixed with a deadly grip on one’s school and spell work.

Stun them with your good looks and then stun them with a well practiced swish and jab.

“Err, so is that what you want to do the project on?” asked Potter. 

Speaking of fashion travesties, the boy was wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt with a t-shirt over the top, a hole by the wrist, and several strands of loose thread unravelling at the hemline. 

Draco refused to even consider the pants he was wearing. Again, dark. And worse? Denim.

“If you want to.” Draco replied enigmatically.

“Okay.” said Potter. “Fermented fairy dust then?”

“Hardly,” Draco sniffed. “Don’t be so inconsiderate, can you imagine what the ministry would have to say if they found out I’d done a presentation on an illegal substance. No one would ever forget.”

“Alright,” replied Potter, looking confused. “What do you want to do then?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright, we can-”

“Potter. This is the first time I have ever left an assignment this late, I am experiencing extreme panic in this moment. Please be sensible and contrary to your usual behaviour, please don’t suggest anything idiotic.”  
Potter looked offended. “It’s not like this is my fault, we both left it too long, so you can get off your goddamn high-horse right now, Malfoy!” 

Draco sighed. They could not afford to fight. “I said don’t suggest anything idiotic, Potter!” Draco snapped. “I know we are both at fault. Please let’s fix it.”

Draco watched in some fascination as Potter’s face lost some of it’s tenseness and he sighed consideringly. “Alright,” Potter began. “I hate to say this, but I think the best way we can get it done is to work together.”

“Obviously.” Draco sniffed.

“Quite,” agreed Potter, spitting out the word as though it were distasteful to him. “Come on Malfoy, this is dumb. We’ve gotten on alright for most of this year.”

Draco stared at him.

“Well,” Potter floundered. “We haven’t had any fights or anything, and we’re both friends with each others friends. I’m sure we can get through this alive. Besides,” he said, a grin and a dimple making their stupid way onto his stupid face. “Maybe you’ve never done an assignment this late, but I’m telling you now, I rarely do them this early.”

Great Merlin how had he survived so long?

“Pansy told me you killed a basilisk on school grounds.” Draco said.

Potter nodded warily. 

“Fantastic. Is it still here?” Draco asked.

Potter nodded again.

“So... we can study it.”

“I suppose so.” said Potter, scrunching up his nose. “It’s been dead for ages though. It’s probably really disgusting by now. Like, rotted and stuff.”

“That’s fine.” said Draco clinically. “As long as you’re not going to be all delicate and emotionally damaged by seeing it, then that’s what I want to study. Basilisks are rare, it’ll give us an academic edge.”

“I’m not delicate,” replied Potter. “And I’m not going to be emotionally damaged just by looking at some great ugly snake. Let’s do it.”

“Good. Let’s see it then.”

Draco packed his books and notes, Potter threw a bunch of rocks into the water. Then they made their way back up to the castle.

 

“What was even the point of meeting outside if we were just going to come back in?” asked Potter.

“Fresh air.” replied Draco.

Potter shrugged. They kept walking.

 

Potter looked more and more uncomfortable as they continued to walk, and Draco realised why when they reached their final destination, outside of Myrtle’s bathroom.

A flash of ghost pain across his chest, blood on a white shirt, Potter yelling, and yelling, and pain, and Snape, and nothing at all. He had thought he was going to die that day.

He looked over at Potter, who flinched. There was a grimace on his face that perfectly illustrated how Draco felt returning to the scene of his near death with his near murderer.

“It was a war, Potter.” he said wearily. “We all did some very stupid shit.”

“I’ve never heard you swear before.” replied Potter.

“Yes well, good breeding and all that.” said Draco.

Potter looked at him sharply. 

“Manners Potter. Not the other stuff.”

Potter nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry anyway.”

And that was that. Draco looked at him with an assessing gaze, Potter was sincere of course, he always was. 

They walked further into the bathroom. 

“Draco darling!” a high pitched voice crooned. 

“Hullo Myrtle.” Draco replied with a wry smile. She’s a complete pervert of course, but he had always liked that in a person. 

“You’ve got a nerve.” she squealed, floating down from the ceiling and coming to rest on the vanity in the centre of the room.

“I suppose so.” he replied.

“And Harry!” Myrtle exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you since that time you tried to commit a murder! I was ever so hopeful for some company you know, but it seems that some people, just can’t do anything right.” she sniffed.

Potter nodded. “Nice seeing you, Myrtle.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Shut it, Potter. I like Draco now.”

“Alright.” Potter agreed. “D’you mind if I open up the sink again?” 

Draco, who had quite forgotten their original purpose nodded. “Please Myrtle, we really need to go through it, for an assignment.”

“Oh, well, if it’s for you, Draco.” she agreed. “I suppose you’ll be visiting me more now, now that I’ve been ever so kind and let you pass.”

Myrtle was a slytherin. Through and through.

“Of course.” Draco said politely. “How could I stay away?”

She giggled.

Harry approached the sink and Draco watched on with some fascination as he inspected the taps.

“What are you doing, Potter?”

“I haven’t tried parseltongue since he died.” Potter muttered. “I don’t know if this is going to work or not.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Draco asked.

“Because.” Potter replied huffily. “I stole it, technically.”

Draco felt a brief moment of vindication, naturally he had always known that Potter wasn’t the type to be properly accomplished. This is just proof.

Then Potter hissed something and the sink sunk. 

A gaping hole in the stone work was revealed, when Draco stepped forward and peered into the abyss he realised that the tunnel was so long and deep that he could not see the bottom.

For the first time since he had decided that a dead basilisk might be a good study opportunity, he felt a moment of doubt.

“Alright.” said Potter. “Now we just jump in.”

“Jump in!?” exclaimed Draco with some alarm. 

Potter stared at him disdainfully. “What? I suppose you thought Salazar’s chamber would be filled with rainbows and ponies? News flash, Malfoy; it’s gross. It’s dingy, and dirty, and gross, so-”

Draco did not stay to hear him finish. Fed up with Potter’s righteous tirade he jumped straight into the hole and screamed for dear life as he slid quickly through the dark.

“Malfoy!” he hears Potter yell behind him.

Down, down, down.

And then ouch.

The end of the tunnel came abruptly, and Draco’s ankle wasn’t a fan.

“Oh my.” said Draco. “That is very painful.”

He scrabbled out of the way when he heard a whooshing sound from above. Potter was coming down then.

“Finally deign to honour us with you presence huh, Potter?” said Draco.

Potter, who had landed gracefully and without injury, lumosed his wand, turned, and shot him a cheeky grin. “Your words, Malfoy.”

Draco scowled, and stood, ignoring the pain in his ankle and approaching Potter. 

“Where’s the basilisk then?” he asked.

“This way.”

They walked for a while, and then Potter stopped and asked him. “Why are you limping.”

“I’m not limping.” replied Draco. “Let’s keep moving.”

Potter shrugged and they kept going. The tunnels were dark and very, very ominous. Potter had not been joking when he had said that the whole chamber was dingy and gross. Draco kept stepping on a papery substance that he suspected was shedded basilisk skin, and he was not sure wether to be excited or disgusted at the prospect. 

Snake skin was very vogue.

“Merlin,” Draco couldn’t help but mutter when they entered a cavernous room that occupied the skeleton of a full-grown basilisk. “It’s huge.”

Potter nodded. 

“I’m going to get a closer look.” said Draco. 

He pulled a notebook from his leather satchel and walked towards the great beast.

Much of the body had decomposed, and the bones and skin seemed to be all that was left of the creature. Draco approached the skull carefully.

“Be careful,” he heard Potter yell. “The teeth could still poison you.”

Draco nodded and walked around the head.

Yes, he could see that, there was fluid dripping from the massive fangs that smelt acrid and deadly.

He pulled a vial from his bag and carefully lifted it to catch some of the poison.

A slow drip-drop fell into the vial, and Draco corked it quickly. 

Potter watched on from a distance with his arms folded. 

“Potter,” Draco called. “Come look at this.”

Potter wandered over with an expression of distaste. 

“Why are it’s teeth so rounded do you think?” he asked.

Potter shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember them looking like that when I killed it.” he said.

“When was that exactly?” asked Draco.

“Second year.” replied Potter, pushing his hands inside his pockets and frowning.

Holy gods.

Potter peered up at the bulbous teeth. “Y’know,” he said. “They kind of look like-”

“Eggs.” finished Draco.

“Yes... they do.” replied Potter, who was beginning to look twitchy. 

“I read a legend once,” said Draco ominously. “About basilisks, that they can procreate on their own. In the story, the venom in their teeth could act as a fertiliser and-”

“Fuck that.” said Potter somewhat savagely, staring up at the teeth as though he could kill off any snake spawn with the power of his glare alone.

“I’m joking, Potter. My gods, you really are gullible.”

Potter scowled. “Not funny.”

“It was pretty funny.” disagreed Draco. “Hold my notes.” he said, shoving his book at Potter’s chest.”

“We’ll have to take a few samples of the scales, and then we can do some experiments and stuff. It’ll beef up our presentation. Come on, Potter.”

Potter followed him about as he collected and cut small squares from the dead skin and pulled out individual scales. “This is fantastic!” he exclaimed. “We’ll be able to talk about how impervious the skin is, and how that can improve immunity to disease in healing potions, of course, you would have to be careful not to mix it with any chicken related ingredient, but that’s not all that important and...”

Draco babbled on about the different properties as he examined the creature, Potter did his best to jot down everything that Draco said, and as it turned out, that worked quite well for them.

Potter did not much feel like contributing, and Draco hated to be interrupted. It was perfect.

“I think that all we need.” Draco said some time later.

“Good.” replied Potter. “My hand is sore.”

“To the potions room!” Draco declared.

Potter groaned but followed him out. They made their way back through the tunnels to the room they had landed in. 

“It occurs to me,” said Potter. “That I don’t actually know how to get out without a magical phoenix.”

“What other types of phoenix are there?” asked Draco perplexedly.

Potter ignored him. “Accio firebolt.”

“Show off.” Draco muttered.

“Any better ideas?”

Draco ignored him.

It took a minute, but soon Draco heard the distinct whistle of a broom descending at high speed.

Potter caught it with a grin, and mounted it.

“And what about me?” Draco asked petulantly.

“I’ll drop it down for you once I’m up there.” said Potter, before taking off and leaving Draco in the dark. Bastard. For a moment Draco had thought that maybe he could-

And there the broom was again. He hopped on carefully and flew up the tunnel slowly.

“Nice.” he told Potter once he was safely inside the bathroom once more.

Potter grinned. “To the potions room?” he asked.

It sounded like a truce.

“To the potions room.” Draco agreed.

 

“So,” said Potter a while later as Draco set up the various apparatus for their experimental potions. “Why did you join the debating thing?” 

Draco looked up startled, of all the questions Potter could have asked, Draco never would have predicted that one. It was too mundane.

“Because I like the sound of my own voice, Potter. And please scrub that cauldron properly.” he ordered. Potter was on cleaning duty because he was the weak link. Luckily, Potter didn’t seem to mind.

“Fair enough.” Potter replied.

There was a beat of silence as Draco wondered wether or not he should say something too.

“Why... did you join the debating competition, Potter?” he asked.

Then he realised that he was actually curious as to the answer. Potter was a phenomenally terrible public speaker. There had been that one potions presentation in fifth year that everybody remembered with a shudder. 

“I got bullied into it.” replied Potter. “I haven’t figured out if I’m more scared of Hermione or Pansy.”

“Are you going to speak?” said Draco.

“No way.” replied Potter. “There’s nothing I would hate more. Impromptu stuff I’m all right with, and like, off-the-cuff I’m fine. It’s not like I’m scared to speak in front of people, it’s the presenting part of it, it’s nerve-wracking.”

Draco, who had always liked it when people listened to him, tried for a moment to understand. He couldn’t fathom it, and so he simply nodded. 

“Are you excited for the christmas play?” Potter asked.

“Yes.” said Draco. “Can we stop with the small-talk now please?”

Potter glared at him. “Fine. Just trying to have a conversation. Geez, Malfoy.” he huffed.

“Concentrate, Potter.”

Things were a little snippier after that. But they managed in the next few hours to complete the majority of the assignment.

“Can we talk about how deadly the venom is?” Potter asked a while later.

“Hmm.” said Draco. “If we do that it’s going to be out of place, our investigation is about the curative nature of some of the ingredients, not how dangerous they can be.”

“But, can’t we preface it with the venom?” asked Potter, sounding genuinely excited about the deadly stuff. “Like, this is a very dangerous snake that could kill you and stuff, but look, it is also a good snake despite it’s badass teeth.”

“As a binary?” Draco asked thoughtfully.

“I don’t know what that means, Malfoy. I just mean that is we start with that actual cool stuff about basilisks and then follow that up with all this information about healing and potions, it could be interesting.” he said, gesturing towards their notes and draft.

Draco considered this for a moment. “Okay.” he agreed. “You can write it, and then I’ll check it for mistakes later.”

“There won’t be mistakes.” insisted Harry. “I’m not actually stupid you know.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He did know. He just wasn’t convinced that Harry had the patience to translate his particular brand of intelligence into anything that could be essay-worthy, or legible.

“Are we done here?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I guess.” replied Harry.

“We can meet in the library tomorrow, to finalise it.” 

“Alright. I’ve got a spare in third.” said Harry. “Do you want to go then?” 

Draco nodded. 

They parted ways.

 

 

Draco woke on the last day of the semester to Pepper Parkinson crawling into his bed.

“What are you doing?” he muttered sleepily. 

“I was going to rip out your heart and feed it to Legless.” she muttered. “But I’ve decided I just want cuddles.”

Draco groaned sleepily. The spider thing hadn’t exactly worked out. The morning he had planted the tarantula in her drawer he had been gleefully anticipating screams, not loving coos. She had named it Legless. Because it was ironic, she informed him prissily.

“Go away.” he said.

“No.” Pepper refused. “Cuddles.”

“Will you be quiet if I say yes?” he asked.

“No.” she replied succinctly.

“Fine.” he muttered, rolling over and lifting up the blankets.

Pepper jumped in and wiggled up next to him. 

“Pansy is being mean.” she informed him. 

“So?” asked Draco. “What do you want me to do about it?”

She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Fix it.”

“It is constantly amazing to me, that you think I can sway Pansy Parkinson.” he said, lifting an arm and dropping it over his eyes. The less he could see of the world, the better.

“I caught her smoking a cigarette.” Pepper admitted. “And she’s upset because I told Dad.”

“Oh,” replied Draco. “I suppose she’s not very happy with you right now then?”

“No,” replied Pepper indignantly. “She hid my best nail-polish and won’t let me in her room anymore.”

“Terrible.” muttered Draco.

Pepper wiggled closer. Because apparently personal space mattered to no Parkinson. 

Draco’s mouth quirked in a small smile, it was like having an annoying sibling that he didn’t ask for but could return at any time.

“It is, Draco!” exclaimed Pepper. “Dennis Creevey told me that you can die from smoking cigarettes.”

Draco sighed gustily. 

“Pepper, Pansy will be fine. Just, giver her a few days to cool down about it.”

“That’s not going to do anything and you know it.” Pepper said crossly, and Draco could hear the frown in her voice. 

Merlin, had Draco ever sounded so petulant at eleven years old?

“Fine. I’ll put in a good word for you.” he said. “But you owe me.” 

“Thankyou.” said Pepper, before poking him in the face. 

“Ugh. Remove yourself and your sibling drama from my presence please.” he said.

“Fine. It’s pretty much breakfast time now anyway.” she said. 

“Brilliant.” Draco replied darkly. 

Pepper punched him in the ribs once before leaping off of his bed quickly to avoid retribution.

“Oh my gods, I hate you.” he said through clenched teeth.

“You are an angelic spleen-head.” replied Pepper indulgently, before running out of the room, and slamming the door behind her.

“Did you just get beat up by an eleven year old?” inquired Blaise’s smart-alec tone from the bed just over.

“Shut it.” Draco snapped.

 

“Are you ready?” Potter asked.

They were in potions. Draco’s hands were trembling nervously. Their extended experimental investigation was sat at the front of their desk, folded nicely and written neatly. Potter had even brought a band of black ribbon for them to tie around the front, as though it were a professional, academic research paper.

“Yes.” Draco replied as calmly as he could manage.

At the beginning of the year, he had resolved to be as detached as possible. He had aimed, much like his father, to exude an air of nonchalance. 

At the start of the year, he had not realised that it would be so difficult. Bit by bit, his stupid personality had leaked out through the cracks, and he had pretty much abandoned the idea that he could pretend not to care, 

As it was, he cared very much. And about this assignment in particular.

 

Despite the fact that it had been somewhat rushed, Draco was both satisfied and impressed with the quality, he was hoping that he could submit it to the Confederation for Apprenticeships and Tertiary Studies, or C.A.T.S for short, after he graduated, and maybe study to become a qualified healer, or researcher. He hadn’t decided. In any case, it was all a part of his plan; he would work tirelessly to become qualified and respected, hopefully marry respectably and have an heir.

“Yes. It’s a very good essay.” he said. 

Potter nodded. “And there weren’t even any mistakes in my introduction.” he said smugly.

Draco rolled his eyes. “There weren’t any immediately discernible mistakes in your introduction, Potter. That’s not to say it was flawless or anything.”

Much to Draco’s chagrin, it had been quite good. Well thought out, well structured, perfectly relevant and even neatly written.

For some reason, Draco had always had the impression that Potter’s writing, should he ever have the misfortune of seeing it, would be messy and indistinguishable. Draco had been fully prepared to re-write.

Instead, it had been small and uniform, perhaps a little squished, as thought it were trying to take up as little space as possible, but otherwise not entirely disgusting to look at.

When Draco had said as much, Potter had grinned. “That’s Hermione with the messy writing. Me and Ron reckon it’s because she thinks so fast her hand doesn’t have time to make it look pretty on the page. You should see Ron’s writing though. It looks like it’s been printed.”

“Because he thinks so slow?” asked Draco innocently. 

“Oii!” said Potter in wounded tones, though he was laughing. 

Draco smiled.

 

“Stop being mean to Pepper.” said Draco to Pansy over lunch.

He was still feeling chuffed about handing in his and Potter’s assignment, and it had made him brave.

“What?” Pansy asked.

“She was simply worried about you. Give her back her nail-polish.”

“It’s none of your business.” Pansy replied, stabbing her fork into her salad aggressively.

“It is.” Draco replied. “You two are family to me, and when my family are fighting it gives me a headache. So stop, please.”

“She dobbed on me, Draco. Do you have any idea how irritating that is? I got called into McGonagall’s office simply because father wanted to yell at me through the fire-place. It’s positively demeaning.”

“Smoking is bad for you.” replied Draco without sympathy, and dreadfully muggle if one went about it the way Pansy did. Most wizards and witches were partial to the pipe, Pansy preferred cheap paper things from non-magical general stores.

“Oh, bite the big one, Malfoy.” 

“They just care about you.” 

Pansy sighed. “I know.”

“So...” he wheedled.

“Fine. Ugh, younger siblings. So annoying.”

“You love her.” argued Draco.

Pansy scowled. “She’s horrid.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“I know.” Pansy sighed. “Pepper!” 

Pepper Parkinson looked up from her end of the table and eyed them warily. Draco nodded and gave her a very muggle thumbs up sign. Just to get into the spirit of things.

Pepper grinned and jumped up from her seat, she veritably skipped down the aisle and came to sit next to Pansy. 

“You are forgiven.” said Pansy darkly. “Don’t do it again or I’ll murder your parents.”

“You’re parents are my parents.” argued Pepper. “That’s just dumb.”

“My statement stands.” Pansy said, dark promise in her eyes.

“Okay.” replied Pepper happily, stealing a bit of egg from Pansy’s salad. “Can you paint my nails tonight?” she asked.

“Fine.” agreed Pansy. “After the christmas play. I’ve been looking forward to watching Draco make a fool of himself.”

“Why?” Pepper asked innocently.

Draco smiled warmly at her.

“You don’t have to wait for something that happens all of the time.” Pepper finished with a smirk.

Pansy cackled and the two sisters high-fived. Draco regretted everything.

 

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of nerves. There were butterflies roughly the size of dragons, flying loop-dee-loops in Draco’s stomach and when Professor Flitwick asked him for the correct wand movement required to charm someone’s words into bubbles whenever they spoke, he bungled it, and ended up vomiting up what Granger informed everyone ‘looked just like liquid detergent’ into Zacharias’s pencil case. 

Despite this blunder and the chemical taste that was plaguing the back of his throat, Draco was pleased to find that a great number of people were looking forward to the play, which would be performed after the feast. Random students were offering their good luck and a disturbingly large portion of the muggleborns were ordering him to break his leg.

This had been worrying until it had happened in front of Potter, who had seen his confused expression and explained that it was a positive sentiment. 

“Are you nervous though?” Potter asked while they were waiting outside of their last class of the day, transfiguration. 

“Not really.” replied Draco staunchly.

“That’s good then.” said Potter. “I’d be bricking it by now.”

“I don’t know quite what that means.” 

“Oh,” laughed Potter. “Sorry, another muggle phrase, it means that-”

Finnegan cut in loudly. “Tis a metaphor that eloquently compares extreme nervousness to the discomfort of literally shitting a brick from one’s posterior.”

“Seamus!” exclaimed Potter.

“That’s... quite colourful, Finnegan.”

“Thy is correcteth.” replied Finnegan solemnly. “Ist thou excitedeth for toniteth entertainmenteth?”

“That makes no sense.” said Potter.

“Pottereth maketh a pointeth.” said Finnegan.

“The things you are doing to the english language right now,” said Draco. “Make me want to cry.”

“Listen and weep, suckers!” shouted Seamus.

“Indeed, Mr. Finnegan.” came the prim tones of Professor McGonagall. “Please cease and desist your dawdling and come learn something.”

They all were good, McGonagall-fearing students, and so they shuffled in silently and did indeed get through the lesson with little to no messing about. 

They worked well enough that McGonagall let them do nothing for the last ten minutes, and so Finnegan continued to make crude jokes, and they all continued to laugh at them, and it was all quite splendid until three twenty came and they were dismissed. 

That was when the dragons came back, swooping around his gut like nobodies business.

The small group of them that were in the play made their way to the great hall together. 

They had one final rehearsal to get through before the final performance.

They met up with Luna along the way.

“You excited, Luna?” asked Harry politely.

“Oh yes, very.” said Luna. “The real Ophelia would be happy with how it’s all turned out I think.”

“Ophelia is not rea-” Draco began, before Harry shot him such a fierce glare that he shut straight up.

“That sounds lovely.” Harry replied in droll tones.

“Nothing is lovely and everything is terrible.” said Zacharias Smith as he came around a corner and joined their party. “Tonight is going to be a disaster, I can feel it in my hair.” 

The boy touched his corn silk locks with a frown and Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’ll be fine, Smith.” said Potter. “And Hermione told me once that there are very few sensory receptors in hair, so it’s probably nothing.”

“I don’t know what that means, Potter.” sniffed Zacharias. “But I have no confidence in it.”

It’s obviously a muggle thing, thought Draco, how stupid could you be?

 

“Ahh, my delightful thespians!” greeted Slughorn when they reached the hall. “You’re all late, get ready.” 

Those of them who were acting, made their way over to a side-room in which Slughorn had stored the crates containing their various costumes and make-up.

Potter, Draco noticed after he had dressed himself and re-entered the hall, was wandering about and checking how the sets were doing.

They were actually quite impressive, thought Draco.

Potter might just have had a career in set-design.

The backgrounds were all carefully crafted from painted canvas, with colourful forests and brooding skies, but the real masterpiece was the castle.

Potter, along with Dennis, Pepper, and Kreacher, had managed to transfigure a very realistic looking castle top out of loose twigs and bark. The result was inherently gothic and Draco was excited to see how the audience would react to it.

“You’d think we would have done something more cheerful for christmas.” groused Smith, who was actually looking rather dashing in chain-mail and leather. 

Draco looked dashinger. 

“Who cares about cheerful?” Draco asked. “No one.”

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“You make a crap Laertes, Smith.” said Draco, who had never before found himself so pissed of with the little idiot.

“Your hair looks ugly like that, Malfoy.” snapped Smith, before stomping off to wait in the left wing.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror. Pepper had done it for him. It looked nice, he thought to himself, Smith was just a wanker. 

He always had been. He was that annoying voice in the back of everyone’s head. Always complaining, never without a gripe, making kissy eyes at Potter every five minutes and then insulting him as though that were the rational thing to do. It was despicable.

Draco shook his head. He needed to focus. His Mother would be attending tonight, he wanted to make her proud.

Hamlet, he thought, tonight I am Hamlet.

They made it through the first few scenes without fuss. Draco was suitably in awe of his ghostly father, and he was suitably angsty upon realising that his ghostly father had been murdered. 

But then Smith and Luna entered for their scene together.

“For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, a violet in the youth of primy nature, forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, the perfume and suppliance of a minute. No more.” Smith spoke imploringly, his earnestness was clear.

Draco scowled. 

Laertes had always irritated him. It seemed foolhardy to doubt Hamlet’s passion for Ophelia, that passion ran clear throughout the whole of the text, and yet naturally, Laertes, the dull cad, doubted it’s authenticity. 

Smith, who was still on stage, stared at him then, and Draco did not doubt for one second that the next words he spoke were a very deliberate dig. Smith was exactly the type.

“The canker galls the infants of the spring,” Smith enunciated clearly, eyeing Draco. “Too oft before their buttons be disclosed.”

A worm is likely to ruin a flower before it blossoms. 

Draco would never be a worm. He had crawled once, but never again. And certainly not for smug arse-holes like Smith.

Draco simmered his way through the next few scenes. Every time he caught sight of Smith, his fury grew. He wasn’t quite sure what had brought on this anger, perhaps he was just channeling Hamlet very, very well. Whatever it was, he was feeling riled.

“I’ll cut Hamlet’s throat in church.” said Smith, as Laertes, to Claudius.

Draco spied Potter in the audience, he was sitting at the slytherin table with Pepper and they were both watching Smith.

Draco waited patiently. And finally, they reached act five.

Draco entered the stage alongside Anthony Goldstein, who was acting as his loyal friend Horatio. They spent a good long while angst-ing about around a grave-yard, and Draco spoke in monologues to his wooden skull, it was very satisfying. 

Until Laertes entered the stage mid-way through Hamlet’s soliloquy and brought with him the unfaithful Queen Gertrude (Amelia Flint), disloyal Claudius (Professor Slughorn himself), and a coffin containing the fair Ophelia.

Hamlet rushed forward, agonised. 

“The devil take thy soul!” shouted Smith.

They play-tussled then. Smith knocked him quickly to the ground, and there was an elbow in Draco’s ribs that hadn’t been there in the last rehearsal.

“Watch it!” he hissed.

“You watch it.” replied Smith prissily.

Draco shoved him and rolled away.

Smith somehow kicked him in the shin. 

Someone giggled and Draco was vaguely aware of Anthony Goldstein snickering into his palm.

“Ouch!” Smith exclaimed with a wounded look after tackling Draco to the ground once more and getting pinched in the flesh of his stomach for his efforts. “You fight like a girl!” Smith hissed.

“We’re not meant to be fighting! Get off me!” replied Draco, rather sensibly.

“Bugger that!” replied Smith, digging his nails into Draco’s arm.

“Boys! Boys!” bellowed Slughorn. “It is only a short tussle! Very realistic, but stop now please!”

Smith dug a knee into the sensitive musculature of Draco’s thigh. Draco groaned, and slapped him in the neck.

“Owwww!” Smith howled in reedy tones. Draco’s handprint stood pink on his flesh.

“God,” Draco heard Pepper sass from the audience. “That’s the most pathetic thing I have ever seen.”

“Boys!” Slughorn had rushed over to them by then, and was flailing about in a dither. “Someone separate them.”

Eventually it ended because Draco managed to scramble far enough away that Smith would have been implicated should he have followed. It was not a victory exactly, but it was not a loss either.

Draco stood carefully, ignoring sting of pain in his shin and panting.

“Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, until my eyelids will no longer wag.” Draco said determinedly, regaining some of his composure and glaring darkly at Smith.

“O, my son, what theme?” replied Amelia Flint as Gertrude, she did so through a grin and Draco scowled at her too, just for the sake of thoroughness.

He re-adjusted his collar and looked ahead.

Draco desperately ignored the audience for the rest of the scene.

It was a painful moment, when Hamlet apologised to Laertes. But Draco grit his teeth and ignored Smith’s smug grin throughout the entire thing. The worst was yet to come.

The fencing began with vigor. The thwack of the wooden swords hitting against each other was as loud as the smack that came when Smith ‘accidentally’ hit the flesh of Draco’s arm.

“Sorry.” said Smith, not looking sorry at all.

Draco scowled, and parried back with twice as much fervor.

“Come, for the third, Laertes. You do but dally.” challenged Draco.

“Say you so! Come on!” replied Smith.

The fight continued.

“Have at you now!” shouted Smith, and landed the final, poisonous blow against Hamlet’s flank.

“I hate you.” muttered Draco quietly. As per the actual text, Draco snatched the sword from Smith and thwacked him in the torso, admittedly harder than necessary. Smith grunted.

“Part them, they are incensed!” shouted Slughorn, sounding panicked.

A lot of death happened then. Most of the people on stage died. Smith, from where he had fallen, scowled at him.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Draco exclaimed, before he too fell down dead.

There was much kerfuffle, a new king was announced, and guns were fired in honour of Hamlet. 

Draco glared at Smith, and the play ended.

Slughorn wept in relief.

Harry Potter and Pepper clapped loudly from the audience. Potter brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly.

Draco was too cross to appreciate it. 

 

“What is your issue with me, Smith!?” Draco asked. They had commandeered a room adjacent to the hall to use as a dressing room. It was between a green and gold tunic and the carriage that was to be used by the ‘players’, that Draco confronted Smith.

“You know exactly what my issue is.” sniffed Smith. 

“I have no idea.” replied Draco, eyeing the handprint that was still bright across Smith’s throat.

“Potter.” Smith hissed.

Draco rolled his eyes. “What about him?”

“You only want him because you found out that I do! You’ve always been jealous of me.” said Smith.

“What!?” exclaimed Draco. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses?”

“Don’t lie to me, Malfoy. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And I know you’ve been on a date.”

“That’s imbecilic.” 

“Oh?” said Smith, eyes gleaming. “So I suppose that wasn’t you two skipping stones down by the kissing rock the day before last?”

“Kissing rock!?” Draco exclaimed with some alarm. “Whatever. We were meeting for a potions project. Eavesdrop properly please.”

The tips of Smith’s cheeks pinked. “So... you’re saying you’re not together then?”

“No.” replied Draco.

“And you don’t intend to be?”

“NO!” Draco repeated.

“Methinks the lady doth protest to much.” said Smith suspiciously.

“I’m not into Potter.” Draco replied seriously.

“Oh.” exhaled Smith. “Sorry about all that then, old chap. Love is a blood-sport you know.”

“Not really.” replied Draco, somewhat baffled. “I thought you hated Potter? I seem to remember you being the only hufflepuff in accordance with me over that?”

“Yes, well.” Smith huffed. “You know what they say about fine lines and all that nonsense.”

“Sure.” Draco replied, crossing his arms.

“And naturally I still think he’s a great lump. No brains at all, and ridiculously self-righteous, to the point of utter intolerableness.” 

“Why exactly do you like him again?” asked Draco. He wanted to spit for some reason.

“Well, he’s dreadfully fit isn’t he? If a bit short.” replied Smith pompously. “I’ll see you on the stage, my friend. Sorry again, all that nasty business behind us now, yes?”

“Of course.” acquiesced Draco courteously. 

“Oh, and Draco?” Smith said, pausing for theatrical effect. “If you ever regurgitate liquid detergent into my pencil case again, I will end you.”

Draco nodded mechanically.

Smith smiled, and left. 

Draco found that he had rather a lot to think about. Least of all, the roaring jealousy that had for some reason suddenly reared it’s ugly green head in his gut.

There wasn’t any room for dragons, not anymore.

 

Draco spent the entirety of dinner in the dressing room, going over his lines and making sure that his make-up was perfect. He didn’t need a lot, it wasn’t a highly artistic play.

He simply darkened his lashes and brows, and used his fore finger to lightly rouge his lips.

His hair was fine, if a bit mussed from his tussle with Smith. Draco was wont to think it a rather rakish, devil-may-care type of look. Perfect for Hamlet, who was just crazy enough to fake insanity for the majority of the play.

“Oh my Merlin!” came Amelia’s voice. “We’re on soon, we’re on soon. God, god, god.”

All of the cast began crowding inside the small room to put on their costumes and fix their make-up. Draco found himself very glad that he had already done so.

“Hush everyone!” shouted Slughorn, crown lopsided on his head. “If we can hear them, then they can hear you.”

There was a brief lull in volume, before everyone returned to their anticipatory chatter.

“Malfoy,” Seamus Finnegan muttered in his ear. “After-party in the room of requirement at eleven. Be there or be square.”

“You’re breath is disgusting.” Draco replied drily.

“Be there.” ordered Finnegan, staring into his eyes seriously. “Also your mum is super fit!”

Finnegan disappeared into the hubbub before Draco could wreak bloody vengeance.

And so it was that Draco simply nodded to himself. The amount of after parties there had already been this year had been astounding. 

A debate? After-party.

A birthday? After-party.

Half giant groundskeeper called a scary animal cute? After-party.

Come to think of it, the last qualifier had been the cause of at least ten.

“Everyone, shhh!” someone whisper yelled.

It wasn’t Slughorn, and so people actually payed attention and shut up.

McGonagall’s voice carried through the wall. “-and after many, many years, we are reintroducing an age-old Hogwarts tradition. The christmas play. As headmistress, I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to all of the parents who have made it tonight, and to Professor Slughorn, the director, may the power of Merlin be with him. So, please, let’s put our hearty hogwarts hands together for this years production of Hamlet. Thankyou.”

The applause was thunderous, and Draco thought about his mum, sitting out in the crowd. She’d probably already found Pansy. It was going to be okay.

Draco swallowed, he wouldn’t be entering until scene two, and so he waited quietly in the wing.

“Gather some gumption, boy.” groused the bloody baron, who had floated up beside him and was preparing for his own entrance. “Do your house proud.”

Draco nodded once, with determination. He was going to do a good job.

Then came scene two. 

He took a deep breathe and stepped onto stage.

 

“Congratulations, my dear.” said his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. 

He took a moment to admire the fine forget-me-not blue robes she wore. “You look lovely, mum.”

“Thankyou,” she smiled softly. “And so do you.”

“Handsome,” he corrected. “Dapper, fierce, fanciable, debonair. I’m wearing a sword right now.” Draco added. “It’s very masculine.”

“Naturally.” his mother agreed. “I know I’m your mother,” she said. “But you were very good. The best on stage.” 

Draco smirked. She was flattering him, but she was also correct.

“Would you like to go for a walk about the grounds?” Draco asked. There hadn’t been all that much negativity directed towards him since he had been returned to school, but he wasn’t going to subject his mother to it if there was even the vaguest possibility.

“Draco, it’s cold. Do I look as though I have a hankering for the influenza?”

“No, Mother.” he said. “But if we go for a walk then-”

“I think I would like to meet some of your friends.” she said.

Draco frowned. A lost cause then. Most people supposed he had inherited his stubbornness from his father. Most people were wrong.

“Let’s go talk with Pansy and Pepper then.” Draco agreed, leading her through the crowd towards the Parkinsons. 

His mother sighed in a put upon manner and followed him. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for some varied company. Draco, I am quite familiar with Pansy and Pepper you know.”

“Hullo Pansy, Pepper.” he greeted. “Mother is here.”

“Yes,” Pansy said, raising a brow pointedly. “I just ate dinner and watched the entirety of the play with her.”

“Of course.”

“I was just asking Draco if he might introduce me to some of his friends.” his mother supplied.

“Oh,” Pansy grinned. “Well, I can help you there. Shall we, Narcissa?” she asked, extending an arm.

“Certainly.”

“I have never felt so betrayed in all of my life.” complained Draco miserably.

“Malfoy!” shouted a boisterous irish accent.

Oh gods, not now. Draco groaned mentally.

“I mean, Malfoys, plural.” the voice corrected itself as it’s uncouth owner slung an arm around his shoulder.

“This is Seamus Finnegan, Mother. I am sure you recognise him best as our wonderful Rosencrantz.”

“I believe I do. Congratulations Mr Finnegan.” said Narcissa. 

“Call me Seamus.” he grinned.

“And you must call me Narcissa.” his mother replied graciously.

“Really?!” said Draco offended. “How come I can’t call you Seamus?”

“You can if you like, mini-Malfoy. It’s just that when I said you could you were so incredibly pisse- I mean inebriated,” he said, correcting his language for the benefit of 

Narcissa and nodding to her politely. “I think you forgot.”

“I was never inebriated.” Draco quickly said to his mum. “Finnegan is delusional.”

“Seamus, dear. The lovely boy just said so.” his mother corrected. 

Seamus grinned.

“Get off me,” Draco scowled, shrugging himself out from under the irishman’s arm.

His mother smiled pleasantly.

“You’re looking fine tonight, Parkinson.” Seamus said, sizing her up with his eyes.

“Go hit on Padma.” Pansy replied with a glare. 

“And on that note,” Draco said. “Let’s just-”

“Introduce you to the rest of our friends.” Pansy interrupted. “They’re not all as vulgar as Seamus.”

“He seemed pleasant.” Narcissa said. 

“Cheers, Narcissa.” replied Seamus with a wink. 

Draco scowled at him until he left.

“There are more parents than I thought there would be.” said Pansy.

“Well,” explained Narcissa. “It’s rather nostalgic. The christmas feast and play used to be a lovely event. And I imagine the muggle parents would jump at the chance to actually investigate where they have been sending their children.”

Draco nodded. There were indeed a lot of muggles. All of them were mingling with each other and exclaiming about the ceiling.

He supposed he couldn’t fault them, he had done exactly the same thing when he had first seen it, and he had been well used to magic.

He spotted Potter having a chat with Professor Flitwick and wondered if it would be appropriate to include him among the number of Draco’s friends.

They came across the Grangers first.

“Mum, Dad. This is Draco Malfoy.” Hermione said. “He’s the one I was telling you about-”

There came a cold moment of dread as Draco waited for her to spurn him. “-with the excellent debating speech, and he’s been helping Harry with potions of course.”

Mr and Mrs Granger were rather small, intelligent looking people. Draco assessed them carefully, fully aware that this was the first time he had ever been introduced to muggles in a cordial situation.

Her mother had dark skin and frizzy hair. Her father had pale skin and no hair at all. 

Still, they both smiled at him warmly and without judgement. Draco realised then that they had no idea about prejudice in the wizarding world, or at least, they had no idea that he had been involved in it.

“I’m Draco,” he said at last. “And this is my mother, Narcissa.”

He shook hands with Mr Granger and Hermione smiled at him proudly. 

He rolled his eyes. Honestly.

His mother engaged them in conversation for a while, and Draco half listened as the pair talked about their work with teeth and how amazed they were by the castle, his mother nodded along politely.

Mrs Granger complimented Narcissa’s robes, and Narcissa remarked upon Mrs Granger’s lovely curls.

It was typical, boring, adult talk. 

Draco, who had never done so before in his life, found himself grinning at Hermione Granger, she smiled back at him, and in that moment they were the only two people in the room who could fully recognise and understand the sheer absurdity of their lives.

“...and I keep telling Hermione, he’s a ruffian, that boy. It’s simple teenaged rebellion, Narcissa.” exclaimed Mr Granger. “We’re hoping she might dump him and start going with an intelligent boy like Draco.”

Draco looked up with wide eyes. 

“Dad, oh my god.” Hermione exclaimed, looking very alarmed at the prospect of a romantic entanglement with Draco. “Ron is very intelligent.”

Draco snorted. 

“He’s up to no good, Hermione.” said her father disparagingly. 

Draco supposed that some things were universal no matter how magical you were. No father wanted their daughter to date the boy she was dating. Literally any other boy seemed like a better prospect until they were dating that boy.

Hermione sighed. 

“Nice meeting you properly, Mrs. Malfoy.” she said, and dragged her parents away forcefully. “So embarrassing.” he heard her mutter before they were swallowed by the crowd.

“That was an experience.” said Narcissa.

“They’re all crazy.” replied Draco. “And it’s not even a muggle thing. It’s a Granger thing, Merlin, you should have seen the colour-coded parchment notes she used in- oh, hullo.” he greeted in surprise.

“Just wanted to say hi.” said Harry Potter. “So, hi.” 

“Hi.” replied Draco.

“Mr. Potter,” greeted his mother. “Draco tells me you were responsible for tonights set design, I thought it looked very impressive.”

“Oh,” muttered Potter bashfully, but from the way he looked down Draco could tell he was pleased. “Thanks Mrs Malfoy.”

“I must inquire as to how you changed the backgrounds and such from the audience.”

Draco, who had been wondering much the same thing, waited carefully for his answer.

Potter brightened. “Well, it took us a while to figure out, err, Pepper and I, I mean. But after Dennis and Kreacher helped with the painting we realised that it was much more efficient to have all of the things in the wings ready, and then use a modified vanishing charm to move them onto the stage. Like apparition, sort of. And once they were on stage, any transfiguration needed could just be done from the front row.”

It was the most that Draco had ever heard Potter say in one breathe.

“And Draco was wonderful, of course.” Potter finished.

Narcissa smiled. “Of course.” she agreed, looking at Potter carefully.

Potter turned red, and mumbled something under his breathe.

“Excuse me.” he said quickly, and ran away.

“I have no idea what’s up with him. He’s usually far more...” Draco trailed off with a frown.

“Collected?” Narcissa offered helpfully.

“Well, not exactly. More put together I suppose.”

“And you have no inkling as to what could be flustering him?” said his mother teasingly.

“No.” Draco replied crossly. Though he would be asking Potter later, he didn’t much like it when people were rude to his mother.

“Oh Draco,” his mother said with a wry smile. “Let us see if you have any more friends. They are all rather more amusing than I could ever have anticipated.”

They carefully avoid the Zabini’s, Narcissa and Kleo had been ignoring each other since the sixties, after an incident involving a hair-cut gone wrong that nobody ever spoke about.

They had been mortal enemies every since. 

It had been cause for much melodrama when he had befriended Blaise, neither of them was allowed to visit the other’s house.

There was frankly a lot to be said for the theory that Kleo had remained neutral during the war simply because she refused to be allied with Narcissa.

Before the night came to a close, they ended up having a lengthy catch up with the Macmillans and the Lovegoods, at the same time. It was a discussion that Draco did not want to think about ever again. They sipped elicit wine with the Goldsteins, were snubbed by the Patils, and shared perfunctory, bland small talk with the Greengrass’s whilst Astoria made the ugliest faces she could manage every time her father mentioned a union between their families. 

He nearly spat his elicit wine back into his cup after the first one.

If he were being completely honest with himself, an arranged marriage with Astoria wouldn’t be all that horrific. He imagined his skeleton, lying next to hers in a conjoined grave, still shaking with laughter.

“We must turn that into a drinking game.” she said before they left. “Every time Father so much as mentions us and marital bliss, we drink.”

“Astoria,” he said sensibly. “We’d spend the rest of our lives completely intoxicated. And then we’d end up getting married anyway, simply because we didn’t have proper control over our inhibitions or good sense.”

She giggled. “Draco. I’d never be drunk enough to marry someone with a penis.”

“Astoria!” snapped Gregory.

She grinned at him mischievously. “Must be off then, heterosexual people to see, heterosexual things to do. Or is it the other way around?” 

Draco laughed louder than he should have.

 

He ended up walking his mother down to the gates.

“And they’re being nice to you, aren’t they Draco?” she fretted.

“Mother, they’re all being far nicer than I deserve.”

That much was certainly true. There had been a few instances, closer to the beginning of the year, where younger students who had had little to no involvement in the actual war besides a relatives death or prejudice, had begun to focus the brunt of their anger and their pain towards him.

He had been surprised, but grateful to his class-mates and cohort, when they had stood by him.

There had been a lot of pain, he supposed, and most of them simply wanted to move on from it. 

It had been more than he had expected, and more than he had earned.

He wasn’t going to punish himself however. The best he could do was be grateful for all of the second chances he had been given, and, considering the people who had all made a point of saying hello to his mother, the friends he had made.

“And they’re feeding you enough?” she asked, eyeing him critically.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes mother, I have all the nutrients a strapping young man such as myself may require.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” she said.

He smiled and leant down to hug her. She dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I despise dealing with the hung-over and the drink-weary, Draco.” she cautioned. “Don’t get too pissed.”

“Mum!” he exclaimed, scandalised. Both because he had never heard her curse before and because it was rather uncomfortable to realise that your mother knew exactly what you were going to get up to later on.

She grinned, and stepped away into apparition.

 

“Draco!” Finne- Seamus cried when he entered the room of requirement some time later. 

It was eleven thirty, and the party was just hitting it’s stride. 

He wandered over to where they were stood.

The room had organised itself a little differently this time, Draco mused.

After the first round of debates, the energy of the room had been warm and cosy, like a bar that you visited with your friends regularly. There had been bean-bags (he remembered Potter’s fondly), and there had been squishy chairs, that had surrounded homely fire-places here and there. 

A gryffindor party really.

He didn’t know what this way exactly.

There was loud music playing, and Draco could feel it reverberating within his body. 

Thump, thump, thump.

“Drink?” Seamus asked him. 

“No thanks.” he said, not willing to play into his mother’s expectations just yet.

“Have you seen Ginevra?” asked Blaise.

Draco shook his head. The two had taken up some weird relationship in which they both had a lot of loud sex in the bed next to his, neglected to use silencing charms, refused to acknowledge that feelings were involved, and then spent the rest of their time pondering and pining and panting after one another.

It was almost as despicable as the Pansy/Longbottom saga. Which mostly involved Pansy being an insecure little bitch who steadfastly dismissed the idea that Longbottom could ever be interested in her. And so she was intent on setting the poor, love-struck fool ridiculous challenges in order to test his dedication. 

Longbottom had proven himself each and every time. Draco suspected that the whole thing was going to get messy if she continued to issue trials until he eventually grew tired and gave up. 

They would discuss that. Soon.

Though Draco was like to deny it if pressed, he was rather impressed by Longbottoms tenacity and newfound fortitude in the face of savage rejection.

Merlin, he thought with no little amount of wonderment, the gryffindor to slytherin romances were truly going strong this year.

“I suspect,” said Draco. “That she hasn’t arrived yet.”

Her and Potter, though no longer dating, often arrived to places together. It was vaguely confusing to anyone who wanted to figure out wether or not they were dating.

Or so he had heard. From Blaise.

In any case Potter had not yet arrived. 

Blaise exhaled gustily. And in that moment, he truly was the picture of the lovelorn Italian.

“Draco,” he said. “We should dance.”

Draco nodded and followed him out to the floor. It was very crowded, Draco realised that the party wasn’t just eighth years this time. He could see sixth and seventh years too. As well as anyone involved in the production.

“This could get out of hand.” he said to Blaise.

“Doubt it.” Blaise replied.

“Granger has been routinely vanishing alcohol and illegal substances since the first people started to arrive, and anyone under-age is getting kicked out at one. Granger made us promise.” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

Draco suspected that he was rather put out by the fact that this included Ginevra, more than anything else.

The spent a long while dancing together in the sea of bodies, losing themselves in the music and simply enjoying the night before Blaise exclaimed loudly. “Yes! Zabini sees the woman, and Zabini is leaving the albino for the woman.”

Draco huffed. Blaise, unlike some of their more sycophantic class-mates, had never had any respect for him. When they were younger it had been a great bone of contention, as Draco had matured however, he had realised the value of a friend you saw you as an equal.

That did not in any way mean that he appreciated the albino comment.

Draco looked over in the direction Blaise had abandoned him. 

Potter and Ginevra had indeed arrived together, their elbows were joined.

Ginevra was wearing an incredibly short, red dress with only spaghetti strap sleeves. Her hair was loose and wild. Her brother, Draco noted with some amusement, was glaring suspiciously around at all of the boys, and girls, who were suddenly eyeing her up interestedly and looked as though a blood vessel were about to pop.

He caught Draco staring and glared ferociously.

Ah yes, there was one classmate he would probably never get on with.

He rolled his eyes. The man was like a dog with a bone. An old, worthless bone that was stupid.

He continued to dance, but watched on in some amusement as Ginevra began flirting aggressively with Blaise, using poor, unsuspecting, oblivious, flower-child Potter as a jealousy inducing vehicle for her wily manipulations. 

Draco smiled fondly. He had never thought he would be impressed by or respect any Weasley, but Ginevra was incredible. Her timing, her fashion sense, her taste, all were inspiring. Draco couldn’t fault her at all.

Potter of course, was looking up at Blaise with confusion, no doubt wondering why he was being glared at with such hostility. 

Did Potter need to be rescued? Draco thought, consideringly. 

The answer was yes, he desperately needed to be rescued. 

Did Draco need to be the one who did the rescuing? Well, that wasn’t as clear cut.

Draco noticed Smith up by the makeshift bar, he too was eyeing up the situation on the sly.

Decision made, Draco sauntered over and inserted himself between Potter and Ginevra, rather overtly detaching their arms, greeting Ginevra, and dragging Potter away very, very quickly.

He required a quiet space and then pulled Potter through a door that had not been there before.

“What is it?” asked Potter. His glassed were lopsided. Draco’s hand itched to straighten them.

“You’re glasses,” he said. Potter looked confused. “They’re lopsided.”

“Okay,” Potter replied, straightening them. “Is that all.”

Draco thought about Potter leaving, and Smith, predator that he was, waiting outside. 

“No.” he replied. “I-”

“Yes?” Potter asked impatiently. 

“I know how to find things.”

“Oh.” said Potter. “That’s good.”

He wasn’t getting it.

“Anything in the castle. That you want. If it’s in the castle then you can find it. Like an index.”

“Malfoy,” replied Potter. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Call me Draco.” said Draco bravely.

If Seamus can call his mother Narcissa, then surely.

“Alright,” agreed Potter, tone losing it’s edge. “Draco.” he said, trying to word out.

“Draco.” Draco affirmed.

“And Harry I guess.” said Harry. “If you want to call me that.”

The room seemed smaller, they were standing very close together.

“Harry.” Draco agreed.

They stared at each other. Harry’s eyes were intense in the low light.

Harry coughed then, and the moment breaks. 

“What were you saying,” Harry asked. “About an index?”

“Well,” replied Draco slowly, still not quite over whatever had just passed between them. “The room of requirement can act like one. In a large book, you don’t flip through the pages until you find what you need, that could take eons-”

Harry’s face took on a hunted expression and Draco supposed he must have been the type to do just that.

“-instead, you go to the back of the book, and check the index. The index will give you what you want straight away.” he explained.

“Okay,” agreed Harry but I don’t see what-”

“The castle is the same.” interrupted Draco. “If you needed something specific, you could spend years searching every room in this place. But if instead you came straight to the room of requirement, you could have what you were looking for in an instant.”

“Okay.” agreed Harry, uncomprehendingly. “I get it, but I don’t see how it’s relevant to-”

Draco cut him off. “Pansy told me that you were looking for capture-globes with your mother in them. Require them for gods-sake.” 

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed with dawning enthusiasm. “Of course.”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment in concentration, and suddenly the small room they were occupying became a little larger, and a neat pile of boxes that Draco had not noticed when they had entered suddenly lined the wall.

“There you go.” he said proudly. “Merry christmas, I am a genius.”

Harry grinned at him. “Amazing.”

“Y’know,” said Harry. “Now that I know it’s here, I don’t feel so desperate to go through it all immediately. Do you want to hang outside?”

Draco was fine with that, as long as Smith stayed well away.

They exited the room then, and the door vanished behind them.

Draco peered over the crowd to see Smith scowling at them. Draco waved cheerfully.

“Who are you waving at?” Potter asks, he’s on his toes trying to look out over the veritable ocean of people.

Draco thanks all of his lucky stars that Potter was born short.

They end up wandering over to see what’s happening with Potter’s friends. 

Heated discussion, apparently.

“Would you believe, Harry, the amount of illegal substances that have been appearing in this bubble!?”

Draco peered up at the large translucent bubble.

“Err. What exactly is it for?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. “I charmed it to collect any and all alcoholic beverages and drugs as soon as they entered the room. It’s just not appropriate for a school-party, there are a lot of under age students here you know.”

Harry shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Ronald doesn’t think so.” replied Hermione.

Ronald looked away awkwardly.

“It’s not that, Babe. It’s just that I would have been right pissed off if you’d confiscated my bootleg when I was sixteen.” he said. “It’s part of growing up. Against-the-rules alcohol is an institution.”

Hermione scowled. “We never had parties like this when we were sixteen Ronald! It’s different. I’m not saying that alcohol should be banned from the dormitories, no one would ever be able to enforce it anyhow, just that in this party-party-post-war environment, things are more likely to get dangerous. It’s a safety precaution.”

Ron shrugged.

“Besides,” added Hermione. “You’re always trying to stop Ginny from getting up to anything, why is she so different to other people her age?”

“She’s my sister.”

“So?”

“We should leave them to it.” muttered Harry. “Once they get stuck into an argument, there’s no use in being near them.”

Draco ceded the Harry’s experience in the matter.

“Doesn’t it get awkward?” Draco asked.

“What?” replied Harry.

“Having your best friends date each other.”

Harry was thoughtful for a moment. “Not really. It makes them happy. Although, it can be right shit when they fight, because their relationship is always this undercurrent in the disagreement, and if I choose sides they get annoyed at me once they make up.”

“What?” Draco asked, confused.

Harry laughed. “I once sided with Ron over something dumb, like, wether or not Fudge would have been a decent minister had we all been born without magic, and when they stopped fighting he told me off for not backing her up.”

Draco laughed.

“He’s a right tosser like that.” Harry added.

Draco grinned. “Would you like a drink?” he asked as a tray floated by.

“Butterbeer thanks.” Harry replied. 

Draco snagged a cup of the golden brew for Harry, and a glass of iced lemonade for himself.

He would likely indulge in something stronger once one o clock came around and the younglings returned to their dorms. 

They finished of their drinks slowly, but Draco relished their conversation far more. 

He discovered that Harry could be rather funny when he put his mind to it, and he isn’t so high and mighty as to be above mocking himself. 

That being said, Draco had now listened to Harry’s more deliberate jokes, and found them wanting.

“Why didn’t the wizard cross the road?” Harry asked again.

Draco groaned. 

It was quite possible that the ‘terrible-now-politically-incorrect-jokes-you-can-tell-your-children-in-order-to-brain-wash-with-laughter-and-imbue-within-them-your-anti-muggle-ideals’ fad, was the absolute worst sub-tradition of pureblood culture that Draco had ever had the misfortune of being affiliated with.

The trend, Draco had read, had been popular in the early fifties, and supposedly mocked famous muggle jokes by transforming them into pro-wizard materials. It was just his luck that Harry had come across a book of them in the library and had decided that Draco was the pureblood he ought to regale with them.

“Because,” Harry finished with relish. “He isn’t a stupid muggle, he apparated.”

They’d been at this for the better part of half an hour. Draco was quite ready to give up on life and send his measurements to the casket manufacturers. 

“You have an odd sense of humour, Potter.” Draco said. “Very, very odd.”

Harry shrugged. “Knock knock.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Who’s there?”

“Floo.” Harry said.

“Floo who?” asked Draco drily.

“Certainly not a muggle!” crowed Harry. “Muggles are too stupid to use the floo!”

“Shut up.” replied Draco, there is shame welling up inside of him. Deep-seated, gut-wrenching shame, and all because this was apparently the best that his ancestors could come up with.

Probability suggested that he was definitely related to at least one of these people, and now he had to live with the knowledge that their heckling game was in fact, incredibly weak.

“Cheer up, Draco.” said Harry sardonically, reaching out with a warm hand and patting his shoulder. “If it’s any consolation at all, I’m sure that a lot of people are comforted by the fact that old pure-bloods can be this hilarious.”

Harry tone sounded at though it had taken a dip in sarcasm lake, and then drowned itself in deadpan.

Draco glared down at him. “I have never before been so ashamed of my heritage.” he said. “I need a drink.”

Harry smiled. “Only ten more minutes.” 

“Good.” 

When a large clock struck one, Draco helped a number of dedicated eighth years to clear the younger students out, it was a blatant misuse of their authority, and  
technically they had absolutely no say on how the other students conducted themselves, but it was a testament to the respect their cohort had garnered that the younger students cleared out with minimal grousing.

“Finally!” shouted Seamus when the last of them had shuffled out. “Time for some grog!”

“Hear hear.” agreed Weasley. 

And so the real party started.

 

Harry and Seamus disappeared for a while, and so Draco wandered over to see how Pansy had holding up. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked her.

She was leant up against the wall, smoking a cigarette again, but looked up when she heard his voice.

“Hardly as much as you have been.” she said pointedly. “Stop wooing my timekeeper.”

Draco gave her a hard look. “I’m doing no such thing.” 

“Well, it certainly seems as though that’s what you’re doing. Even Potter’s going to think so if you keep on as you are.”

“Where’s Longbottom?” he asked. 

“Over with that Abbott bint.” she said bitterly.

Draco looked over to where she was gesturing. Longbottom and Abbott were dancing together clumsily. Draco, as an outsider, recognised a platonic, desire-void twirl when he saw one. He supposed that Pansy was too close to the situation to see anything so innocent.

“I’m sure he’d rather dance with you, Parkinson.” Draco said wearily. “If you’d simply stop being so mean to him.”

“I’m not mean!” she argued. “It’s just-”

“Difficult?”

“Yes.” she sighed. “It all feels as though things aren’t as they ought to be you know? People are so friendly with us Draco- even after all of it. Don’t you ever feel like that’s worse than if they’d all been spitting hate and such?”

This time, Draco sighed. There were no easy answers to anything post-war. The rules had changed, the best they could do was move on and grow up.

“Every day, Pansy. Every day.” he said. 

“It’s like, sometimes I feel as though I don’t deserve anything at all you know, and Longbottom is so... I mean, he’s, well, he’s nice Draco. He’s too nice.”

“He’s not too nice Pansy, if you like him, stop messing him about. It’s not about what you deserve. We’re all just doing our best with what he have.”

Draco said, he’d read part of that in the advice column in the prophet, but it seemed applicable.

“You’re right, Draco!” she said. Dropping her cigarette to the floor and stamping it out with her heel. “Besides,” she said, sniffling a little and wiping at her eyes. “Moping is dreadfully old-fashioned.”

“True.” Draco agreed. 

“I’m going to go dance with Longbottom.” she announced.

“Okay.” replied Draco.

“It will be fantastic.” 

“Fantastic.” Draco repeated.

“Good pep-talk, Malfoy.” she said, standing up a little straighter and adjusting her bosom. “Let us never speak of this.”

“Of course.” Draco agreed, he was a gentleman. “Wait!” he exclaimed. “Can I try a cigarette?”

Pansy turned back to look a him. “Sure. But have the first one outside, no one wants to watch an amateur cough up a lung.”

He nodded, and she pulled an entire packet from somewhere in her brazier and threw it at him.

“Thanks.” he said with a slow smile.

She left.

Draco grabbed an unopened bottle of fire-whiskey from a nearby counter, and made his way through another door that he had not noticed before. He found himself out on a flat part of the roof. The sky was starry and magnificent above him, the lake and grounds were a mysterious abyss. 

He used a quick ignis charm to light his first cigarette, and then put the thing to his lips. 

He inhaled the smoke in one long, slow, drag, and was very careful not to cough simply to spite Pansy. 

Draco looked to the universe then, and contemplated a great many things; the burgeoning relationships between his peers, his performance as Hamlet, the meaning of life, and what he was going to do once he left Hogwarts.

The future for Draco was unclear.

He still had some vague notion that he would submit an application to the C.A.T.S, but other than that he felt like he had reached a cross-roads. He didn’t know how he would keep in contact with people after school, he didn’t know if people even wanted to keep in contact with him- perhaps they were all just being nice, and he had no idea what to call the confusing concoction of emotions that seemed to swirl up in his gut every time he so much as thought of Harry Potter.

He puffed his way through two more cigarettes before he decided that he would never be one for smoking, and by that time, the door had snicked and there was another body coming to lie beside him.

“You missed me and Seamus’s grand entrance.” said Harry.

“Seamus and I.” Draco corrected.

“You missed me and Seamus’s grand entrance.” Harry insisted stubbornly. 

“I don’t imagine it could have been all that grand.” teased Draco quietly.

“It was well grand,” Harry argued. “We went down to Hogsmeade, and I glamoured Seamus so we could buy a few crates of drinks, and then we returned triumphant, to the victors went the spoils.” 

“Did you bother to bring anything out here?” Draco asked, refusing to be impressed, though he would have liked to know how exactly they had gotten through the gates.

“Of course.” said Harry. “Here, this is muggle stuff but I think you’ll like it. Admittedly I had to apparate into the wine cellar at Grimmauld to find it, but here.”

A heavy weight landed on his gut. Draco lifted the bottle to read the title.

“Merwyn’s No.9 Red. 1805.” he said out loud. “Potter. This is priceless!”

“Eh,” mumbled Potter. “It’s better off getting drank than it is gathering dust under my house.”

“But Potter, the galleons!”

“Who cares?” said Potter.

“I’m not opening this.” replied Draco. “It would be sacrilege.”

“Fine,” said Potter, snatching the bottle from him and popping the cork himself. “Oh no,” he added in exaggerated tones. “The bottle is open! We’ll have to drink it now.” 

Draco groaned. “We don’t even have the proper glasses.” 

Harry sat up. “That’s sorted.” he said. “Here.”

Harry pulled two empty butterbeer bottles from the crate he had dragged out with him.

“We can just pour it in and-”

“Oh, that’s so much worse you barbarian.” Draco cut in. “We might as well just-”

He sat up and snatched the bottle back, bringing the rim to his lips, elevating the bottle and swigging for all he is worth.

Potter let out a raucous laugh. “Who’s a barbarian now!? Draco Malfoy, gulper of vintage wines! Philistine, plebeian!” he said in hoity-toity tones. 

“Oh, stuff it, Potter. It was peaceful out here until you arrived.”

Potter settled some then, and the pass the bottle back and forth without talking.

Some time later, Potter shoved him on the shoulder.

“What!?” Draco exclaimed.

“It’s a shooting star.” said Potter, pointing. “There. Make a wish.”

Draco watched as the star darted across the sky in one blink-and-you-miss-it movement, and he realised something.

“This wine tastes terrible.”

“You think so?” Potter laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything.”

“More than terrible.” Draco affirmed. 

“They’re probably playing games by now.” Potter replied quietly. “Do you want to go back in?”

“You know," said Draco, with more bravery than he had used in a while. “I think we should stay out here and finish of this terrible wine properly. What say you, Potter.”

“Sounds good to me, Draco.” Potter agreed. 

And so that was what they did. 

They stayed out on the roof so long that they got to watch the sun rise up over the lake, or, Draco did in any case. Harry had fallen asleep somewhere around four, it seemed to be his body’s natural response to inebriation. 

He laid his cloak over Harry’s sleeping shoulders and watched as the candy pink of the dawn lit the clouds and brightened the brilliant white of the snow that blanketed the ground.

“Potter.” he eventually nagged. “It’s starting to snow. Get up.”

Harry woke somewhat blearily. 

“Good.” said Draco. “I’ll see you next term, yes?”

Harry nodded, still half asleep. 

Draco smiled, and stood, then he turned on his heel and made his way down to the slytherin dungeon. He was lucky enough to have inherited an immunity to hang-overs, and so it was with a spring in his step that he levitated his trunks down to the gates which had been opened for the end of the semester, and apparated to the manor.

The wrought iron barricade encrested with the Malfoy coat of arms was a welcome sight to him, and so he straightened his shoulders and walked up the drive, he had returned, and he was home.

 

Debate IV - The Three Witches v The Butterfly Sisters

On the night before christmas Harry Potter found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts aimlessly. He knew that he could have been celebrating with the Weasleys, the offer had certainly been made enough times and Harry had the bruised shoulder to prove it. But Harry knew that the future held a great many Weasley christmas’s to come.

This was the last he would ever spend at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts had been his first home, and he was reluctant to waste any moment he had left inside her walls. 

One of the advantages, Harry thought smugly, of being an eighth year, was that one was no longer restricted by such petty binds as a curfew; now Harry was free to roam the school and grounds at his leisure. 

Technically, the invisibility cloak wasn’t entirely necessary, but Harry wore it for his own sake, a nod to old times. 

And so, he walked on, a pair of bodiless feet, haunting the hallways and avoiding Mrs Norris.

He didn’t realise where he was going until he was stood outside the room of requirement, this time revealing itself to him in the form of a pale blue door. It was wooden, frail, and embossed with the names;

Marlene McKinnon.

Alice Longbottom.

Ruby Runcorn.

Patrician Bagglehurst.

Lily Evans.

Lily Evans, repeated Harry in his mind. Could this be? He reached a hand to the knob and pushed the door open. 

The room was simple in layout, and looked exactly like Hermione’s dormitory from the few times Harry had seen it. There were several differences however, the beds were all single sized and covered in dust, there were no lantern fixtures; just several candlewicks, and the floor was a sight messier. 

Hermione was a regular soldier when it came to having a tidy room, Harry had certainly heard Lavender grouse about it enough times. 

This room had clothes strewn all across the floor.

Then Harry spied a pile of boxes on a bed by the window. The same boxes that had appeared the night of the christmas feast, with Draco. 

He stepped towards them hurriedly, being careful not to tread on a single item. All for naught however, a loose shoe-lace from his trainer foiled his plans and he fell to the floor with a crash.

Fully expecting to be shielded from the hard floor by the numerous clothes, Harry was somewhat shocked when his hands fell straight through a lacy singlet and he scraped his palms on the rough stone.

“Oof!” Harry exclaimed because there was no one around. “What the hell?”

He looked at the mess in confusion, then tried to touch a large pile of what appeared to be school robes carefully. He felt nothing, and his hand went clean through, disappearing into the uniforms as though they were little more than ghosts.

Harry pulled his hand back, uneasy, and stood. He walked over to the boxes and stared at them for a moment. 

The bed they were sat upon was covered in a woolen blanket the same periwinkle blue as the door, Harry could see both magazines and complicated charms texts poking out from underneath the bed, and the wall above was wholly covered by photographs that had been tacked up with spellotape. 

And there were so many of them, far more than Harry had in his own little album.

His mother eating ice-cream with some other girls in gryffindor scarves that, Harry assumed, must have been her dorm-mates. 

A moving one, with James Potter flicking back his hair and shouting something while his mother walked away hurriedly with her hand raised crudely in the two fingered salute. Sirius was in the background of that one, rolling around on the ground and laughing raucously.

Harry wondered for a moment why Lily had been inclined to pin that particular photograph up.

He stared for a long moment at one that showed his mother and Aunt Petunia hugging and smiling outside of a small brick cottage. They were young there, but Harry could still see Lily’s Hogwarts trunk in the background. He sighed, they had loved each other once, before magic, and war, and him.

He turned back to the boxes then and prayed they were tangible, they had seemed so on that first night they had appeared, the night of the feast. But now that Harry had entered this ghost room, he had his doubts. It was sort of akin to the flowers that Aunt Petunia had used to press between phonebooks. When they were done, the general air of the flower would have been preserved and retained, but it would never regain the beauty it had had in it’s life. The flower would always be a kept dead thing- a shadow of it’s former self.

Harry shook his head in an effort to clear himself of morbid thoughts, like Petunia. 

Then, in a sudden burst of gryffindor bull-headedness, he reached out a hand and grasped one of the boxes. 

He grasped one of the boxes.

Harry whooped with glee. The cardboard of the box was rough and textured, Harry ran his hands across their sides in glee.

“Ew.” he said, when he realised that his hands were still bleeding from their scrape and had left a long streak up the side of the box. He healed them quickly and then returned his attention to the contents.

The top opened easily enough, and so Harry lifted all of the boxes down to the ground. 

The first he looked at was labelled ‘1977-My Fair Lady’

He opened the box and peered in, a small sterling silver mount and a number of crystal globes where nestled carefully inside. 

He remembered what Hermione had told him and pulled out the mount first, setting it down carefully. 

“It’s like wizard television.” Hermione had explained. “Except that no one has figured that out yet, so they’re mostly used to record events more explicitly than photographs do, and with significantly less bias than a pensieve memory. Very complicated too, Slughorn really used them for his christmas plays?” she had asked with some incredulity. 

Harry shrugged. “Don’t ask me to fathom the depths of his mind. He’s literally the least sane person here.”

He lifted out the globe labelled ‘scene one’ tremulously, and took a deep, reassuring breathe, before setting it down upon the mount.

The moment it touched the silver, a cloud seemed to rise up and swirl colourfully about inside, before clearing slowly, and leaving in it’s wake a very clear image of some extravagantly costumed students swanning about a make-shift stage, singing, and dancing, and oh. There was his mother. 

Harry watched on with hungry eyes as he realised that his mother was the leading character as the precocious Eliza Doolittle. He was somewhat surprised to notice his father, who he had always thought of as quite manly and stoic, prancing about as one of the chorus, but was less surprised to see Sirius, dramatically portraying the churlish professor with melodramatic hand gestures and the poshest elocution Harry had ever heard leave his godfathers mouth. By the end of the performance Harry was quite sure that Sirius Black had treated the whole thing as a satire.

Harry went through all four boxes that night. It seemed that Lily Evans had only become interested in working on the plays around her third year. 

In any case, Harry thought sleepily, he had never before felt so close to his mother. Just knowing that she had been the type of person who enjoyed the theatre, and had silly photos of her friends, and had a nice singing voice were more than he had ever known before. 

It was a with a sweetly heavy heart that Harry Potter returned to his own bed to wait for christmas, he didn’t think however, that anything would ever be better than the gift he had just received.

 

“Morning, Professor.”

“Merry christmas, Mr Potter.” replied McGonagall warmly. 

As in years past, all of the remaining students and teachers had congregated around the one table for breakfast. Harry was sat between Professor Trelawney, which was somewhat uncomfortable, and a first year named Fergus Fly, who was, in accordance with his name, an absolute whizz on a broom.

Harry only wished that he was a gryffindor. 

“And then, I thought, I bet I can go faster than this- so I thought about it really hard, and leant forward, and it was like zoooom, and I was like whoooo, and then it was like- crash! Because I crashed. Which sucked, but then I looked at my timer, and, you’ll never believe! Personal best!”

“Indeed, Mr Fly.” nodded McGonagall with a wry grin. 

Harry, who wasn’t going to win any awards for flight safety anytime soon, was still somewhat shocked by the boy’s daredevil antics. 

McGonagall eyed him with a grin and Harry shook his head. 

“What do you reckon about the quidditch cup, then?” Harry asked Fly.

Fly, who had only really stopped talking so that he could breathe, turned to Harry, his eyes were lit fanatically and Harry was reminded, somewhat nostalgically, of a young Oliver Wood. 

“Well,” began Fly earnestly. “Slytherin are out for the count, their keeper is totally rubbish. Ravenclaw? Well, Godwin-Smith and Felting are probably the best beaters in the school, but I don’t like their odds of getting enough points for the final with Aspley doing their chasing- no way. It’ll come down to Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.”

“Oh?” inquired Harry. “You think Hufflepuff have what it takes this year?”

Fly grinned. “We’re taking Gryffindor down.”

“Careful, Mr Fly. I think you’ll find that you are quite surrounded.” replied McGonagall. 

The boy looked abashed for a moment, and the colour drained from his freckled features. But then what looked like a mischievous thought crossed through his thoughts and any contrition was quite lost.

“With all due respect, Headmistress. I think you’ll find that won’t stop us.”

Fly smirked and then ran away with the last bit of bacon.

“Back in my day,” said Harry in world-weary tones. “Young whipper-snappers had respect.”

“What day was that, Mr Potter?” said McGonagall, with pursed lips. “I certainly do not recall.”

Harry grinned. “Merry christmas, Professor.”

“Headmistress to you, boy.”

Harry laughed, stole the last bread roll, and took his leave. He hadn’t visited Hagrid in a while, and warm tidings needed to be traded.

 

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. 

Harry had morning tea with Hagrid in his new hut, Hagrid had been right chuffed with the rare bestiary that Harry had found at a muggle market a few months ago and had put aside.

He’d left Hagrid’s hut full on laughter, good cheer, and warm food. 

From there he made his way around the grounds slowly, pausing to look at the lake, and standing by Dumbledore’s grave in a moment of silence. 

Afterwards, he began the long trek up to the castle doors, pulling his apple-cap down over his ears to keep them warm.

By the time he reached the door, he was panting and red-cheeked. 

And though it was only two in the afternoon, Harry decided that since it was christmas, he might as well go back to bed. 

And so that was exactly what he did. 

The sky snowed, and Hogwarts creaked, and Harry Potter snored quietly into his pillow.

 

Harry was napping again when he was rudely awoken by both his good friend Hermione and the unpleasant truth that he no longer had the common room to himself.

“So this is why you haven’t written.” she said accusingly. “Much too busy.”

“Sorry.” he apologised lamely. 

“Budge up,” she said, sitting down the opposite end of the chair and putting her legs under his blanket.

“Agh!” he cried. “Hermione, your toes are cold!”

She pressed them underneath his legs and smiled. 

“You never used to be this vindictive.” Harry said.

“Oh, Harrison.” she replied. “You never used to be this easy.”

“Bloody hell, I’ve told you countless times my name isn’t Harrison.”

“And I’ve told you countless times that I need to be able to extend your name, for scolding purposes.”

“Vindictive.” he countered.

“Fair.” she corrected.

“How is that exactly?” Harry whined somewhat churlishly.

“Ron becomes Ronald, you become Harrison. Equality.” she justified.

“Where is Ron?” Harry asked, propping himself up and straightening his glasses, which had fallen into lop-sidedness in his sleep.

“Ginny still has to get the train in, Molly made Ron go with her.”

“Fair enough.” said Harry, staring into the fire.

“Anyway, I’m glad it’s just us. I feel like we haven’t spoken in a while.”

“We talk all of the time.” Harry replied. 

“Hmm.” Hermione murmured disbelievingly. “Next debate is coming up. Excited?” she asked, apparently dropping the topic.

“I’m just about to expire from the thrill of it, Hermione.”

“No need to be sarcastic.” Hermione replied, pulling a hair on his leg.

Harry resisted the urge to react. It was a close thing though.

“Who’re we up against?” he asked. 

She snorted disdainfully. “The Butterfly Sisters.” 

Lavender’s lot, Harry thought to himself, the fact that they had lost in their debate against the Lads didn’t do much to recommend them.

“You’ll decimate them.” Harry encouraged.

“Well,” said Hermione slowly. “While we’re on the topic-”

Harry looked across at her sharply, and she averted her eyes. “What?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, don’t worry, nothing has happened. It’s just that- well, I know we promised you that you would only have to be the timekeeper, but I hadn’t really been fully thinking about it, and I may have overlooked- or neglected to mention, that the timekeeper and the chairperson are required to take turns.”

Harry frowned. “What does that mean.”

“It means that you’ll have to do what Zacharias did in the last debate, introduce the speakers and the topic to the audience, announce the beginning of each speech, and err, close the debate.”

“Oh, is that all?” Harry asked as tritely as he could manage, inside, his stomach lurched.

“I know it’s a lot to ask Harry, really I do!” exclaimed Hermione, sounding distressed. “We won’t force you, but we’d have to forfeit if you couldn’t do it and that-” she cut herself off. “It doesn’t matter. I know we’re going back against our promise, asking you to do this, but would you consider-”

“Of course, Hermione.” Harry agreed, forcing a smile. “I’ll do it. Not a worry.”

“That’s wonderful!” Hermione gushed. “Thankyou, I know you don’t like public speaking.”

“It’s fine.” said Harry. “It’s nothing at all.”

She smiled at him one last time before standing, kicking the blanket off in the process. 

Harry scowled at her darkly and picked it up again, wrapping it around his legs and tucking it under his feet.

“I’ve got to go unpack and organise all of my things before everyone else gets here. Are you going to be alright?”

Harry nodded. “You go on, I’ll see you later.”

 

Harry returned to his dormitory when Ron and several of the other guys arrived, and watched them all unpack.

“So, how was your christmas, Harry?” Neville asked him politely. 

“Good, Nev, really good.” he said.

Ron snorted. “What’d you do, roam the halls like a ghost the whole time?”

Harry regretted for a moment that Ron knew him so well. 

“Well, technically yes.” he agreed. “But it was fun, relaxing. You wouldn’t believe how peaceful the castle is when you lot aren’t in it.”

Ron, Seamus and Dean all took offense to that, but he and Neville shared a look.

Though not particularly close throughout their younger years, he and Neville had always been the quieter members of the room. 

Seamus and Ron were loud enough for twenty people, and Dean could often be heard waxing philosophical about ‘the post-modern subversion of traditional art forms’ or ‘making real art, man.’

It was somewhat tamer than Ron and Seamus’s usual tripe, but twice as confusing, and in Harry’s opinion that made up for the volume. 

“Mum sent this, by the way.” said Ron, as he threw a large sack over to Harry. “It’s all your christmas stuff, Pig’s too small to handle it, and we all thought Errol might expire if he had to travel with something bigger than an envelope.”

“How is Errol?” inquired Harry.

“I still think he should be dead yesterday, he’s that decrepit. But Ginny is convinced he’s got another decade of deliveries on him.”

Harry grinned, the relationship between Ron and Ginny had grown ever more tempestuous since the end of the war. Ron refused to admit that his little sister was largely grown up and could make her own decisions, and Ginny refused to back down on anything. They were both as stubborn as each other.

“Well, go on then.” said Ron impatiently, gesturing towards the sack. “You always do this, I don’t know how you just sit there with them, every bloody christmas.”

“Oh, I suppose I should follow in your foot-steps and tear them all open as quickly as possible.”

Ron pinked. “At least then I wouldn’t have to sit here in suspense.”

Harry took pity on him and pulled the first gift from the bag. It was large and incredibly lumpy. He grinned, already knowing what it contained before reading the tag. 

To Harry With Love -The Weasleys. 

“Wicked.” he said, unpicking the tape and removing the large woolen jumper that was folded inside. Green, with a big orange H in the middle. He put it on immediately. 

“Thanks, mate.” he said when he pulled out a large container full of miniature treacle tarts from Ron. “I didn’t know you could cook?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “Mum’s teaching me. She gave up on Hermione being domestic and decided I was the next best target.”

“Taste’s good.” said Harry, licking a bit off his finger. 

“Good,” said Ron. “I really like it actually.”

“What? Your own cooking?”

“No, smart-ass.” replied Ron. “Cooking. It’s cool, sort of.”

“Yeah?” said Harry, taking a moment to look at his friend. Harry was not tall, something that often rankled and was highlighted by the fact that he often stood by Ron, who was the gangliest of all his brothers. His friend had a heavy dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and there were small lines by his mouth that told anyone who cared to look that this was someone who liked to smile.

“Yeah.” confirmed Ron.

“You gunna look into it?” Harry asked casually.

“Well, I was thinking, it could be a good business thing you know?” Ron looked unsure.

“Definitely.” said Harry. “You’d be great.”

Ron grinned at him, and a moment of silence was passed to mourn that old dream of joining the aurors together. It wasn’t difficult, Harry hadn’t been overly passionate about it for some time.

He hardly knew what he wanted anymore.

“Well, keep going then.” exclaimed Ron. “It’ll be christmas by the time you get through these.”

Harry was surprised and pleased to receive several photographs of Teddy lying beneath the mobile he had owl-mailed them. Andromeda had hung it above his crib so that he could stare at the small, metal wolves and moons as they circled above him when he went to sleep. 

There was a book on how to play the guitar ‘for dummies’ from Hermione, Harry supposed she must have remembered the one they had found in Grimmauld, the one Harry had decided he might like to learn one day.

Perhaps most surprisingly, was a fine looking new quill and a pad of parchment from Draco Malfoy. He looked at Ron questioningly.

“Don’t ask me. Some fancy bird rocked up and left it on the windowsill.”

Last, but certainly not least; a number of candies and chocolates from various Weasley family members tumbled out of the sack.

“Why is it that your family are so intent on fattening me up?” asked Harry, grinning down at the frankly outrageous amount of trashy food he would now be obliged to eat. 

“It’s because you’re a beanpole my friend, you need to get some muscle on you, like me.” said Ron, flexing his bicep proudly. 

“Pull the other one.” retorted Harry, before he ripped the wrapper from a Droozle’s Delightful Drizzles Bar and sunk his teeth into it with an appreciative hum. “Merry christmas, Ron!” he shouted through a mouthful as the red-head returned to his trunk and continued to unpack.

“And a happy new year.” replied the red-head drily. 

 

It was easier than Harry had thought it would be, to settle back in to the routine of classes and crowded meal-times. 

Easy too, was the camaraderie that had been struck up between he and Draco Malfoy. After last semester, they had simply continued to pair up for all of their potions work. No discussion had been required, it just so happened that they sat at the same bench together- every lesson.

“You’re stirring the wrong way, Potter.” drawled Draco.

“Harry.” Harry corrected. “And no I’m not. Look, it says right he- oh.”

“Just give it here.”

“No, I can do it.”

“Prove it.”

“I will.” replied Harry stubbornly.

“Then for Merlin’s sake, stop stirring the wrong way!”

Yes, just as Harry had thought. Easy.

 

As it happened, there was one matter in Harry’s life that was not proving ‘easy’ to handle, and as the debate with The Butterfly Sisters drew closer, Harry’s dread grew weightier, and more cumbersome. Nerves were a heavy, awkward thing to carry about, and Harry, who had not often felt them, found them doubly difficult to deal with.

“Welcome to tonights debate.” he said, as calmly as he could manage.

The words came out without stutter and without stumble, Harry congratulated himself.

And smiled at his mirror wistfully. 

“The topic of tonights debate is that creazles are better than knups. I mean- bloody hell, what a stupid topic.” 

Alas, Harry realised that he would simply have to grin and bear it. The first debate of the second round would be taking place that evening, and Harry would be expected not to stuff it up with poor chair-person skills. Perhaps there was a potion or a charm for this sort of thing. Maybe Slughorn could be convinced to share with Harry a drop of Felix.

Harry snorted, he doubted it. 

Pop. 

Harry turned to face the source of the noise with a whirl. 

“Oh, Kreacher. What can I do you for?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

Kreacher looked at him disdainfully. “Master is wanting an elf to attend this evenings debate? To watch over... the water?”

“Oh, yes of course. The water is very important. I think you’d better stay and watch the whole thing, just to make sure the water doesn’t run out.” Harry agreed.

Kreacher nodded slowly. “If that is what Master desires.” he said.

Kreacher disappeared with a bang before Harry could get another word in.

“Perfect.” said Harry sardonically to his own reflection.

“Not with that hair, dear.” replied the mirror.

Harry scowled, and didn’t flatten it until he had left the bathroom.

 

“Agh!” Harry said upon entering the common room and coming face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

She grinned. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Team meeting, Potter. Come with me.”

Harry nodded but said nothing. They walked the halls silently until Harry noticed a funny patch of material on the inside of Pansy’s arm. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

“What?”

Harry looked pointedly at the square. “I’m sure Madame Pomfrey could fix it in a tick, you don’t need a bandaid.”

“A bandaid? Potter, I have no idea what a bandaid is, but through the powers of deduction I will assume that you are referring, rather clumsily, to this?”

She held up her arm and pointed to the square. He nodded.

“Nicotine patch.” she explained. 

“Oh, are you trying to quit smoking?”

“It would seem so, wouldn’t it?” Pansy snapped.

Harry must have looked a little affronted because she softened her tone and spoke again. “I wasn’t going to. But then Pepper and Nev started showing me all of these awful pictures of teeth and I thought, I have such lovely teeth, and then when I decided to stop it was very much a craving. So, nicotine patches. Nev got them for me.”

“Wow.” said Harry. “So, you and Neville?”

“Anything wrong with that, Potter?” she replied defensively. 

“No, I just... didn’t see it coming. Congratulations. Neville’s pretty great.”

She smiled. “Yes, he is.”

By then they had reached their meeting room, and upon walking in, seeing the mess of parchment notes that littered the ground, and Susan staring at the ceiling blankly whilst Hermione paced in the background, the conversation was dropped.

“What’s going on?” asked Pansy authoritatively.

“The notes!” wailed Susan from the floor. “They’ve gone missing again!”

Harry, who felt rather vindicated that he wasn’t the only one careless enough to lose them, went to stand by Hermione. 

“The debate is in less than an hour.” he said under his breathe.

“I know. This time they took all of our speeches too. We’re going to have to completely rewrite.”

“Do we know who did it?” Harry asked everyone.

“No.” sniffled Susan. “I’ve been very careful, after last time. And I had them inside my jacket on the way here, you can ask Malfoy, he even said that you would all be impressed by how well I was taking care of them-”

“Malfoy.” hissed Pansy.

“Oh, come off i-” interjected Harry.

“That worm. I can’t believe I trusted him. After last time he assured me that he hadn’t had anything to do with it. Well, not this time- Potter!”

“Err, yes?”

“I’d like to take this opportunity to reinstate the no-fraternising-with-the-enemy rule.”

“I thought that was still on anyway?”

Pansy snorted. “And that no one noticed you’ve been getting all cosy with lying traitors that shall here-fore-to go un-named? Please, I loosened the reigns because Draco convinced me of his innocence. Oho, I’m going to kill him. Rip his throat out of his ar-”

“Parkinson.” interrupted Hermione, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t have the time. We need to rewrite the best speeches possible in-” she checked her watch. “The forty five minutes we have left. The best way to get revenge is to win.” 

“You’re right, as always, Granger. Let’s do this.”

The girls got to work writing hurriedly, they were lucky enough to have been well versed in the speeches that they had written before and the words came easily.

“Five minutes.” Harry called sometime later. “We have to go.”

In all of the drama, Harry had forgotten his nerves, but now, as they walked towards the great hall, they all came back in a rush. His stomach flip-flopped.

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione. “Are you alright!?”

“You look grey.” added Susan helpfully.

“I’m fine.” he said, batting away Hermione’s worried hands. “Let’s just do this thing.”

 

Luckily for Harry, the tun out was not as massive as it had been for the first debate. All of the eighth years were there, and the vast majority of sixth and seventh, but the masses of younger students had evidently decided not to bother. Of the first years, Harry could only see Pepper Parkinson, sitting in the front row next to Kreacher. 

“You guys go on,” said Harry. “I’m just going to get some water.”

Harry wandered over to the refreshments and poured himself a glass. He sipped it slowly, whetting his dry lips and mouth. 

“Potter,” greeted the voice of Draco Malfoy from somewhere behind him. “Good evening.”

“Good... evening, Draco.” Harry replied politely, before remembering that Draco had likely stolen their speeches. 

“Good luck then.” said Draco. 

“Sure.” replied Harry a little scornfully, he stalked away, leaving a confused Draco Malfoy to wonder where exactly, he had gone wrong. 

Harry walked up the small flight of stares and onto the makeshift stage. He patted Hermione on the shoulder as he walked past, and took his seat in the centre table, next to Parvati Patil, who was timekeeping. 

Harry pulled the piece of paper with his lines on it from his pocket and read them through again.

He could do this, he could. Surely this wasn’t as difficult as, say, facing a dragon. Or robbing the world most secure bank. He could do this in his sleep.

Sinistra, the adjudicator, gave him the signal to begin.

Harry stood slowly, and the sudden silence of the hall was deafening. 

He approached the lectern, and looked out at the crowd. 

There were so many of them, and Harry’s throat was awfully dry.

Was he supposed to be speaking yet? Were they waiting on him to begin the debate.

His palms where sweating. He wiped one on his robe. He could see Kreacher in the audience, looking up at him with large, watering eyes. Pepper was next to him, staring at Harry urgently, mouthing the word ‘talk, talk, talk.’ over and over again.

And there was Draco Malfoy. Who he liked very much, but who had stolen his teams notes.

That wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, and welcome to tonights debate.” he said clearly. 

In the background, he heard Hermione breathe a sigh of relief.

“The topic of tonights debate is that Crups are better than Kneazles. Arguing for the affirmative, are The Butterfly Sisters, comprising of...”

And on it went. He realised that if he ignore the audience and focused instead, on not disappointing Hermione, or Susan, or Pansy, that he spoke far better. Helpful too, though he felt a twinge of guilt for thinking it, was the conspicuous absence of the late Professor Snape, glaring at him from the back of the room.

“You did so well.” Hermione gushed when they had a break for the adjudication to take place.

“You too.” he said. “Although, I don’t think you’ve managed to convince Ron.”

Ron’s hatred of kneazles was legendary in the gryffindor common room. One time, Harry had seen him push Crookshanks off a couch. 

Hermione laughed. “I don’t think Ron will ever be fond of kneazles.” she admitted. “What about you Harry, kneazle or crup person?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I couldn’t choose.”

She walked away to talk to Ron then, and Harry turned to find Pansy staring at him with a raised brow. “Pull the other one, Potter. Kneazle or crup”

He smirked. “Just privately?”

She nodded.

“I’ve always been partial to cats.”

 

Naturally, the Twee Snitches won. And so Harry could happily close the debate, and watch them all shake bitter hands with glee. Daphne, Padma, Parvati and Lisa left the hall in something of a unanimous snit, and the rest of them, surprise, surprise, got down to celebrating.

All of the eighth years, bar the butterflies, met outside of the room. For once, Harry was in time to witness the resultant argument. 

“No, not happening Finnegan. You and Thomas designed that last three. Let someone with a bit of class organise things.” argued Pansy. 

“She is right.” agreed Zabini, who rarely had much of an opinion on anything.

“We can’t let the slytherins do it,” implored Seamus to the group. “It’ll be crap.”

“Don’t trust my judgement then?” asked Pansy.

“Never, Parkinson.” replied Seamus.

Hermione spoke up then. “Actually Seamus, Pansy is right, the slytherins really should get a chance to open the room. They haven’t had a go at it all year, and gryffindor have had several.” 

Seamus groaned, but acquiesced. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Draco, darling?” said Pansy.

“I thought we weren’t speaking.” replied Draco in dour tones. 

“This is a brief interlude, for the sake of inter-house unity.” she said. “Come help me, I’m thinking... a cross between the Malfoy Samhain soiree of 1993 and Greengrass society ball of 1989?”

Draco nodded thoughtfully, and the two stood before the wall with closed eyes until what appeared to be a massive, solid gold door manifested before them. 

“Nice.” murmured Zabini appreciatively. 

“Show offs.” muttered Seamus. 

“Let’s go in.” said Hermione.

The door opened smoothly and Harry crowded inside with the rest of them. The room was roughly the size of the great hall, with great stone columns rising from the floor like something from their greek mythology text books. 

Colourful clouds floated around the ground in soft pinks and blues, and at the back of the room, several orchestral instruments played themselves. 

“Is that-” Harry whispered to Hermione and Ron. “That harp from first year?”

“You know,” mused Hermione, looking up at the instruments. “I think it may be.”

“Is there anything to drink around here?” whined Seamus.

Pansy, who was already slow-dancing with Zabini across the stone tile floor, looked over at him disdainfully. “Open your bloody eyes, Finnegan.”

Just then, several more clouds, white this time, appeared from nowhere, all of them floated around chest hight and carried with them a dozen champagne flutes each.

“Classy.” said Harry.

He noticed Dean and Neville sitting in a few pink clouds off to the side, and wandered over to them, leaving Ron and Hermione to do whatever it was they did when he wasn’t hanging around them.

“-and I always look to find the real truth- the truest truth. That’s a part of the human condition, and art is the best way to communicate that. Don’t you think?”

Neville nodded pleasantly. Harry flopped down into a pink cloud next to him. It felt rather like his good old bean bag. 

“Oh, Dean. That is just so interesting.” simpered Susan, whom Harry had not noticed before. “Please tell us more of these made up ideologies.”

“All ideologies are made up.” replied Dean smartly. “Oh, shut up. It works on most girls.”

Susan laughed. “I can’t believe it worked on one girl. Was she deaf?”

“It’s not all bullshit you know, these are some very legitimate artistic theories. It’s like, all art is a reflection of the society in which it was produced, there is absolutely no doubt about that. The artist is less of a creator, and more of a conduit. In my opinion, I reckon it to be a kind of... collective understanding of the world. Like, we all  
believed this and thought this, and here’s what’s to show for it, you know? Art, man.”

“I’m not a man.” 

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then?” asked Susan. “You seem to be suggesting that there is no such thing as original thought, or indeed, creativity, if all art is a product of the collective, then what is the purpose of the individual, does he not have thoughts, or ideas? I can’t believe that.”

“This is too intellectual for me.” muttered Neville to Harry.

Harry nodded. “D’you wanna drink every time one of them uses the word ‘art’ or the phrase ‘I think?’”

Neville nodded. A white cloud floated past and the each grabbed four or five drinks.

“I’m going to be right alcoholic by the time this year is out,” said Harry. “Where do you reckon the drink come from?”

“Well,” said Neville. “I’m pretty sure Seamus has an accord with the elves the times he doesn’t get you to go down Hogsmeade way with him. This fancy stuff though... I wouldn’t be surprised if the room was nicking it from the professors.”

“That can’t be it.” said Harry. “You’d think they would’ve come down on us by now.”

“I doubt Trelawney would notice. Pansy says she’s ‘a full on alco.’” 

Harry snickered. “How’re things going then?”

“Good.” said Neville darkly. 

It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that his friend took a moment to glare out at the dance floor, where Zabini was still leading Pansy around in a series of complicated steps and whirls.

“Drink up.” suggested Harry.

Neville looked at him questioningly.

“I heard them say art.”

They drunk.

“I can do that you know.” said Neville, staring out at the floor once again.

Harry looked at Pansy and Blaise, both performing a number of gravity defying, body contorting dance moves doubtfully.

“Err, mate?”

“No, Harry I can. Grandma made me do lessons. It’s a pureblood thing.” he whispered the last part.

“Right.” agreed Harry.

“I’m going to cut in.” said Neville with resolve, standing up.

“Okay.” said Harry.

Neville sat back down suddenly. “You don’t think she’d be angry at me, if I did.”

“I don’t know, Neville.” replied Harry. “She might think you were being brutish, but maybe she’d like it. I have no idea.”

“Brutish?” asked Neville, looking stricken. 

Just then, Zabini leaned close and whispered something in Pansy’s ear.

“I’m going.” said Neville standing up once again. 

Harry stared at the butt-shaped indent he left in the cloud.

“Wait,” he called. “Neville, maybe-”

But Neville had already gone, and was cutting in between the two dancers.

Zabini, Harry saw, gave a short bow, and Pansy simply stared at Neville with a calculating look.

Neville extended a hand, she took it, and oh- Neville could dance afterall, and just as well as Zabini.

“Well I think that art is the best way to discover the truest truth!” argued Dean.

“You’d be wrong,” replied Susan. “I think art is the only way that we can lie to ourselves. It’s a sedative. An escape.”

Harry tipped back four mouthfuls.

“Steady on.” said Draco Malfoy, sitting himself down in the cloud Neville had absented.

“Malfoy.” Harry greeted.

“What happened to Draco?” Draco asked.

“Draco.” amended Harry.

“What are you up to?” said Draco.

“Nothing. Listening to these two intellectuals argue about the purpose of art or something.”

Draco looked over at Dean and Susan then, as if he had not noticed them there before.

“-I’m telling you now, that if you take away archetypes, or any of that sort of thing, then you tke away societies capability to inform the artist. And then what happens? A blank canvas is what. We are nothing without culture.”

“Right.” said Draco. “Having fun?”

“I’m drinking every time I hear the phrase ‘I think’, it’s going well.” said Harry.

“Really? Not bored?”

“Well,” mused Harry. “Perhaps a little.”

“You should go dance then.”

Harry laughed. “There’s an idea!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you make a fool of yourself.”

Harry stopped laughing abruptly.

“You want to dance with me?”

“I don’t find the thought completely repugnant.” corrected Draco superciliously, running a finger around the rim of his glass,

“Oh, how could I say no?” demurred Harry.

“Scared, Potter?” challenged Draco, repeating what was possibly his most over-used taunt.

“Really Draco, it loses it’s effect if you don’t save it for special occasions.”

“You are scared then!” said Draco, smirking at him.

“Oh, hell.” muttered Harry, hating himself for rising to the bait. “You bloody wish.”

They stood, and Draco extended an arm. Harry grasped it lightly, and allowed Draco to tuck Harry’s arm into his elbow. 

They walked out onto the floor, it was easy not to bump into the other couples. The room was very large, and there were few of them. 

“First we step apart, and then we bow.” said Draco.

Harry stood back dutifully, and lowered ducked his head when Draco did.

“Then, I extend my hand again, and you accept it.”

They did so. Draco’s palm was warm to the touch, and without callouses. 

“Next,” Draco instructed. “We wait for the first beat. And then, one, two, three, four, we dance.” he said, on the fourth beat he gripped Harry’s waist with his right arm and pulled them closer together, they stepped into the dance.

“One, two, three, four.” Draco said quietly. “Don’t look at our feet. It’s a graceless habit, Potter.”

“How will I know where to step?” Harry replied.

“You don’t have to.” said Draco. “That’s the point of dancing. Just trust me.”

Upon hearing those words, Harry was very tempted to bat Draco’s hands away and say ‘no siree, not for me, not today.’ 

But, when he did look up, and Draco kept him from tripping, and Harry got a little more used to it, and a little less clumsy, he decided not to bother. 

Dancing wasn’t so bad. He suspected that he had come to this conclusion because Draco was a man, and therefore Harry was not required to lead. But there was also the undeniable warmth that seemed to radiate from his body, the pleasant slope of his shoulder under Harry’s hand, and the soft way his pale eyes were looking at Harry. Just Harry.

Harry had never before been so aware of Draco Malfoy.

He wondered if he had been unwise to indulge himself with the champagne a little earlier.

The song ended, and Draco instructed him to step back and bow again. 

“That wasn’t so horrid, was it?” Draco asked.

“I suppose it wasn’t... completely repugnant.” he said, repeating Draco’s words from before.

“Good, perhaps an-”

“Do you mind if I cut in?” interrupted a nasally voice. 

Harry turned to see Zacharias Smith, extending a hand towards him. 

“Err,” struggled Harry, looking at Draco for help. Something, he apparently should not have done. Seeing as Malfoy took the opportunity to throw Harry under a bus very quickly indeed.

“I don’t mind at all,” Draco said. “Have fun, Potter.”

“Just one dance.” Harry agreed, and then I will track you down Malfoy, and pay you back for this.

Harry smiled somewhat forcedly at Smith, who made a point of extending his hand a little further.

Harry took it, and the music swelled. 

Dancing with Smith was a little more awkward than it had been with Malfoy. While Harry could tell that Smith would have been a rather proficient dancer with a different partner, it seemed that neither of them was keen on leading, and so they stumbled around in somewhat clumsy circles until the song ended. 

“This is fun, isn’t it, Potter?” Smith asked.

“Err, yes. Very.” Harry said. 

“Perhaps, when this one is over, we could-”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. He had absolutely no idea why Smith, who hated him, had wanted to dance in the first place, but dancing a second time was not on Harry’s agenda. 

“Ahh, sorry Smith. Lot’s of, err. People to see you know.” he said.

“Do call me Zach.” replied Smith.

“Zach then.” said Harry. “Umm, bye now.”

He bowed rather hurriedly and walked away. 

 

“You!” he said, when he found Malfoy, hiding away behind some of the thicker columns at the back of the room. “I have a bone to pick with- what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” said Draco. “Just thinking- about things.”  
“Oh,” said Harry, who understood exactly how thinking about things could give you an expression like that. “Is it the war?” he asked.

“No.” replied Draco. “What are you doing here anyhow?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.  
“Shouldn’t you be whirling and twirling your way to bliss with Smith?”

“Oh yeah, thanks for that by the way.” Harry replied darkly. “Great show of friendship, and, and steadfastness. Very helpful you were.”

There came a beat, Draco looked up at him, confusion writ in every line of his face.

“I don’t understand.” he said finally.

Harry sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Just... wanna tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing, Potter.”

Harry looked at him pointedly, and then slid down the column and sat next to him.

Draco sighed. “Oh fine, Slughorn approached me today, as you know.”

Harry nodded, he had wondered why the fat professor had felt the need to pull Draco out of the class for a moment.

“I’ve been meaning to apply for the C.A.T.S. Slughorn approved me today, and we sent away the application, with all of my schoolwork and my parts of our basilisk research.”

“Cats?” Harry asked.

“Confederation for Apprenticeships and Tertiary Studies.” explained Draco. 

“Sounds intense?” guessed Harry.

Draco nodded. “Very. It’s the most rigorous level of further education that a magical student can be admitted into. Very high profile. If I get in, I’ll be one of only five across Europe, and I’ll be able to apprentice under a qualified sorcerer.”

“Sounds brilliant.” said Harry. “Why are you worried about it?”

“Because,” said Draco. “I’ve been working hard all year for this. It’s a chance for me. And today I’ve finally sent away my application. There’s nothing more I can do than wait.”

“Well then,” replied Harry, clasping his shoulder reassuringly. “It sounds as though it’s out of your hands.”

Draco nodded. “You’re right.” he agreed solemnly. “For once.” 

“Hey now.” he said in offended tones, tones that were belied by the fact that he was smiling. 

“By the pricking of my thumbs...” Draco murmured ominously.

“What?” asked Harry looking up. He spotted Pansy in the distance. “Oh. Something wicked this way comes.”

Draco smiled. “You’ve read Macbeth.”

“I’m not completely uncultured you know.”

“Hullo boys,” greeted Pansy. “We’re thinking of playing a game?”

“We’ll be along.” said Draco, they stared at each other for a moment or two, and Harry wondered if he was missing something, before abruptly remembering that Pansy had once again decided that Draco was forbidden.

He briefly wondered if he should abandon Draco, but quickly decided that he’d always been a rule-breaker at heart. And besides, this new, friendly thing he had with Draco seemed to Harry too pleasant, and too fragile to give up. There was also the fact that he had his dignity, and his dignity was quite certain that it didn’t take orders he didn’t want to from Pansy Parkinson, no matter how much he had come to like her.

“Shall we?” Draco asked, standing. 

“We shall.” Harry agreed, straightening up and following him back out into the main area.

All of the eighth years had pushed a number of clouds together into a circle, there was just room enough for Draco to settle in by Zabini and for Harry to sit down into a blue cloud between Pansy and Luna.

“Luna?” he said. “I thought it was just eighth years?”

“I snuck in.” she said. “Don’t tell anyone- so far I haven’t been seen.”

Harry nodded and glared at a number of people who were rolling their eyes at her words. Including Hermione. 

“Paranoia?” suggested Pansy.

A few people looked up with interest. 

“No.” refused Seamus. “We played that time before last. We have to be fair and such.”

“Oh, and what did you have in mind, Finnegan.” challenged Pansy, leaning forward and staring at him.

Seamus, Harry saw with some amusement, grinned lasciviously.

“No.” said Hermione. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”

“Oh come on, Hermione! Don’t be such a killjoy!”

“All in favour,” Hermione said sternly. “Of vetoing whatever it is that Seamus is thinking, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes rang around the circle.

“That settles it then, truth or dare?” Hermione suggested.

There came the murmur of general ascent, and so the game began. 

“Okay, okay.” Ernie MacMillan said through laughs. “Luna, truth or dare?”

“You can see me?” she giggled. “Dare, of course.”

“Dare?” confirmed Ernie. “Oh bugger, I can’t even think of any. This always happens.”

“Booo.” crowed Seamus.

“Shut up, Finnegan.” snapped at least half a dozen people.

Harry hardly noticed, he was watching Draco Malfoy sip champagne from a crystal flute with more elegance than he had any right to. He was wearing a fine black jumper with neck, and smart grey pants. 

Harry, who after the debate, had thrown on the first pair of jeans he had come into contact with, and his christmas jumper, wondered if Malfoy might think he looked too scruffy, or something. Harry ran a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it. If the way Pansy was staring at him, he suspected he had done just the opposite. 

“Stop fixing yourself, Potter.” she said quietly. “There’s no point.”

“Gee, thanks.” he muttered.

She exhaled gustily. “Touchy. I only meant to say,” she grimaced. “That you don’t have to. Gods, that was painful.”

She shook her head in what looked like an attempt to clear her mind of complementary thoughts.

Harry returned his attention to the game just in time to see Luna finish giving Susan the most absurd lap-dance he had ever seen. And he had seen many, it was one of the hazards of attending these shin-digs.

“God, we’re all bawdy nits.” he remarked to Pansy.

“What did you expect, Potter. Everyone’s just celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Harry asked.

“Being alive.”

That’s not much to celebrate, thought Harry privately.

“Truth or dare... Parkinson.” said Dean.

She rolled her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. 

“Dare.” she said boredly.

“Alright, I dare you to make out with Seamus.”

Pansy paled dramatically, Harry supposed that must have been the natural reaction to such a prospect.

“Ew.” she said. 

Seamus grinned. “Let’s get it over with.” he said, and promptly crossed the circle, grabbed the back of her neck, and laid one on her. 

Neville watched on with a frown. 

Everyone laughed with they were finally detached, Seamus’s mouth was stained red from her lip-stick.

But Harry took note of the way Pansy’s hands were shaking with a frown, he made a mental note to check on her later.

“Alright, truth or dare...” Ron said slowly, looking around the room. “Ferret.”

“Very mature,” replied Draco. “Weasel.”

 

Harry looked around, no one had asked Draco anything yet, and now the whole circle was interested to see how he might react. 

Ron and Hermione were looking at him, sort of vindictively, Harry might have said.

Luna was staring, very openly. 

Ernie, Smith, Hannah and Susan were all looking on curiously.

The slytherins were watching with some detachment.

Seamus and Dean were grinning like loons.

Harry simply tried not to ogle. Though he was very interested as to what would happen next.

“He’s craven!” Seamus squawked suddenly. “It’ll be truth for sure.”

“Shut up, Seamus!” snapped the another half dozen.

Seamus, for his part, didn’t look even remotely apologetic.

“Dare.” replied Draco, voice smooth and unwavering.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” said Ron, a grin working it’s way across his face.

“Don’t be too nasty, dear.” replied Hermione.

“Oh do get on with it.” yawned Draco.

“Yeah, yeah.” replied Ron, rubbing his hands together. “I’m thinking... it’ll have to be a snog.”

A cheer went up around the circle, mostly, Harry noted, from the girls. 

Personally, he didn’t think it was all that creative, at least half of the dares had been snog related.

Then Ron made eye contact with him. And Harry new what his traitorous, no-good, evil, completely horrid not-friend-anymore was going to to before his eyes even lit up with the glee that came from realising a particularly delicious idea.

Harry begged Ron with his eyes.

“And it’ll have to be-” Harry shook his head minutely. “Harry.” Ron finished.

Everyone stared at Harry then, and he felt rather a lot like a dear caught in head-lights. 

He had not consumed enough alcohol for this. Even if he chugged a gallon before Draco made his way over there wouldn’t be time enough for it to enter into his bloodstream and intoxicate him to the point of being blinded. 

He gut clenched with anticipation, and he slowly turned to see how Draco was taking the news. 

Draco had pink cheeks, and he was very intently staring at anything but Harry.

“I dare you to snog Harry.” Ron repeated.

“Yes, I heard you, Weasel.” replied Draco in icy tones. 

He looked at Harry since the first time the dare had been issued. It was an assessing stare, one that seemed to have stripped Harry bare and found him wanting. 

“I won’t do that.” said Draco coldly, to the dismay of the group at large. “I’ll take the forfeit.” 

Harry felt as though somebody had poured a bucket of ice over him, and for a moment, it was very difficult to breathe. Was he really so repulsive that Draco would rather do the forfeit than kiss him?

He felt very suddenly humiliated, it was bad enough that he had been rejected so publicly, but worse still was the fact that he suspected, due to his own lack of subtlety, that most of the people in this circle knew exactly how he felt. 

He wondered if Draco knew how he felt. Perhaps that was why Draco had found the idea of kissing him so repulsive, or perhaps he didn’t want to lead Harry on, or some such rubbish.

Although, in that case Harry had to wonder what Draco thought he was doing, dancing with Harry, and always spending his time at these stupid parties with Harry. 

Harry hated parties. Gods. Why had he even bothered coming to this one?

You know why, said a small voice that Harry was very inclined to ignore.

A large portion of the group had wandered over to watch Draco drink his forfeit, a large cup, full to the brim with servings of all Seamus’s worst potions. 

Harry stood, and watched Draco lift the cup.

“Cheers.” Draco said, flashing white teeth and grinning before tipping it back and swallowing to loud applause.

Harry couldn’t watch anymore, he left discreetly through a nearby door and went straight to bed.

There was a feeling he couldn’t name, coursing through his veins; a combination, most probably, of the nerves he had been feeling on and off all day, and the alcohol he had consumed. He had never, ever, had a stomach for alcohol. 

Yes, Harry mused as he lay there in the dark, it’s just the alcohol. I’ll feel better tomorrow.

 

Harry woke the next day, and it only took a few moments for the memories to come back in one embarrassing rush. 

“Oh, god.” he groaned into his pillow.

One thing was clear; he did not feel better. Harry had not realised how strongly he had come to feel about Draco until he had been forced to face the fact that Draco did not want him. 

Harry remembered back to the start of the year, when all he had felt for Draco was vague resentment and, of course, a debilitating physical attraction.

As he had gotten to know Draco, the nature of that attraction had changed, Harry simply hadn’t acknowledged how much until he had come face to face to Draco’s indifference.

Harry wondered if it would be immature for him to curl up in his invisibility cloak somewhere an wait for school to be over.

He sighed, nothing ever got done that way. It would be best for him to simply move on.

He hoped to remain friends with Draco, and hopefully if enough time passed, he would simply stop hoping for more. 

For now, he preferred to be away from the people in his cohort, and so he got up quickly and quietly, quickly grabbing his jumper and another pair of holy jeans before making his way down to the kitchens.

He ticked the pear once, but immediately became alert upon hearing a scream. 

He pulled his wand quickly, and swung the portrait open as silently as possible, if anyone was hurting the elves he would-

Not do anything.

The elves were all staring warily at the door, looking very much caught in the act.

Harry assessed the situation carefully. There seemed to be no immediate threats, but Harry noticed that two tables had been pushed to the back of the room, and upon each table sat three elves. All of whom, were looking incredibly guilty. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked curiously.

“Harry Potter must be getting on now.” said one of the smaller elves. She approached him quickly and began to pull at his leg, encouraging him to leave.

That was when Harry noticed Kreacher.

“Kreacher?!” he exclaimed, confusion colouring his tone. 

“Master Potters timing is, as always, most inopportune.” said the elf with a scowl. 

Harry watched on, uncomprehendingly, as Kreacher stepped up onto a very large saucepan that had been turned upside down, and had apparently become what the elves used as a podium, or lectern of sorts.

“Kreacher is being most disappointed to declare this debate post-poned.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Merlin, don’t stop on my account.” he said.

The elves looked between each other suspiciously. 

“I’d love to watch.” Harry tried.

Kreacher glared at him. “Master must be keeping our secrets, if master is deciding to stay.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.” he promised, feeling somewhat bewildered. 

“Kreacher is declaring this debate un-post-poned.” he croaked. 

“Harry Potter must be sitting down now,” said the elf that had tried to lead him away. “Harry Potter can sit here.” she said, showing him to a chair. 

He sat down carefully and looked around. He was at the back of the audience, probably out of necessity, none of them would have been able to see the speakers had he been up the front. 

The audience comprised of near a hundred elves who had turned up various pots and pans as seat and were watching on in awe. 

“Kreacher is introducing Miggleby. Miggleby is being the third speaker for the negative team. For the sake of persons most unwelcome, the topic of todays debate, is wether or not house elves should be getting paid. Welcome Miggleby.”

The crowd of house elves cheered, and Harry clapped along with them. He felt a little as though he were Alice after she had fallen through the looking glass. 

Miggleby turned out to be a rather compelling speaker, she lacked some of the speech impediments that other elves suffered, and even addressed the topic of elvish education, and why it should exist. 

Miggleby explained why education would serve to empower the house elf, and why that was important. She discussed at length the nature of choice, and why it was okay for some elves to remain serving, as long as it was an educated decision and the product or free-will, she continued on to state that if an elf wanted to follow a different path, that should be their choice too. 

Harry could see some of the older elves listening with frowns, several of the younger elves however, were nodding along ecstatically. 

Miggleby finished speaking and was afforded a very polite round of cheers. 

“Kreacher has conferred with moste esteemed adjudicator Trilby.” announced Kreacher after a break. “And is pleased to award this debate to the negative team.”

 

“So...” Harry asked later. 

The elves had returned to their usual duties and had made Harry some extra breakfast food. It was tastier than usual, Harry suspected they were trying to buy his silence.

“What?” asked Kreacher testily. The old bugger was sat across from him and had been watching him eat for the past few minutes.

“So, I didn’t know you were interested in debating.” said Harry.

“Kreacher is not interested in debating.”

Harry looked at him pointedly. 

“Kreacher is not very interested in debating.” Kreacher amended.

“I don’t think anyone would mind you know,” he said. “What you’re all doing.”

Kreacher sniffed at him disdainfully. 

“Master is not knowing anything.”

“Tell me then.” implored Harry. 

Kreacher opened his mouth to speak.

“Wait, that’s not an order, tell me if you want to.” interjected Harry.

Kreacher looked at him carefully. “Political debate was always happening in the noble house of Black.” said Kreacher. “Kreacher maybe has missed it.”

“Well, it’s good then.” Harry said. “That you can... err, debate.”

Kreacher nodded. 

“You don’t mind being at Hogwarts then?” he asked.

“Kreacher has... grown accustomed.”

Harry nodded. “That’s good, and I just, I think I should ask this, just in case, I now that you’re attached to, uh, the house, but-”

“Can Harry Potter please be getting on with it?”

“Right you are, Kreacher. Err, do you want me to give you clothes? Be a free elf?”

“Kreacher is both disgusted and ashamed of you, Master.”

“Right then. I’ll take that as a no.”

“Kreacher is glad Master is seeing some sense.” replied the noble elf righteously. 

Harry grinned. He did not know what he had been looking for when he had come down to the kitchens, but he hadn’t expected to be so cheered. It seemed that the wizarding world was not the only magical community that was facing great change. Harry only hoped that any changes that came, would be good ones.

 

Debate V - Harry Potter v Himself

Upon returning to classes on the Monday, Harry had managed to push his feelings far enough to the side that he hardly noticed them at all. 

Draco, it appeared, had not noticed any change, and when Harry entered the potions classroom he cleared space on the bench.

Harry approached cautiously, and put his books down and potions equipment down.

“Students, students.” cried Slughorn as he entered the classroom, his portly stomach pressing at the seams of his vibrant purple robes. “Practical application today, turn to page four hundred and twenty-seven of your books.”

There came the sound of pages turning, and Harry rummaged through his own, flicking to find the page.

“Philtre. Can anyone tell me the purpose of such a potion.”

Hermione, Harry could see, was waving her hand in the air.

“Miss Granger?” said Slughorn.

“Philtre, is a rare amalgamation of the notorious love potion, amortentia.”

“Ten points to gryffindor, and why is it rare?”

“Because,” said Hermione. “It is a weaker brew, and will work only if there are feelings that it can intensify. Philtre is ineffective on the apathetic, and on those who feel dislike for the person whose blood is in the potion.”

“Five points.” exclaimed Slughorn, clapping his hands. “Now, Revelio.” he muttered, the instructions appeared on the board. “Here are the instructions, remember class, Morwin’s Theory of The Sensum-Elementum Ratio will come in useful. Stay focused! Mr Finnegan, that means you.”

Seamus grinned toothily.

Harry began setting up his workspace, putting his cauldron over a small burner and fetching ingredients from the storage cupboards. 

“I think you’ll find that you need three of those.” Draco said to him.

Harry quickly pulled another tongue-of-dog from a jar. 

He returned to his desk and filled his cauldron with three ladlefuls of sea-water. 

Next he checked the instructions, he wasn’t entirely certain what Morwin’s Theory had to do with anything, but he figured that if he were to be as pedantic as Draco about precise measurement and exact counts then he couldn’t possibly foul it up too much.

Indeed, towards the end of the class, when Slughorn did his rounds and was oft like to take any opportunity to bemoan the consistent and lamentable state of Harry’s potions, he simply nodded once, and moved on to Draco’s without making any comment at all.

In Harry’s mind, a truer victory had never been won. 

“Well done, Harry.” said Draco.

Harry grinned. 

“Students!” cried Professor Slughorn upon checking everybody’s work. “Does anyone know a more unusual use of the Philtre? I’ll give you all a hint, it’s rather arcane.”

For once, Hermione’s hand did not make it’s usual ascent. 

The class was silent for a moment. 

“Ahh, yes, Miss Parkinson.”

“The Philtre was first used as a perfume, the purpose of which was for one to smell attractive to all who came in close enough proximity to get a whiff.”

“Very true, ten points to slytherin. Students, take a moment to smell your own potion, do you think that the Philtre is effective? Does it serve it’s purpose? If not, have you made a mistake in the brewery or do you think the potion can be improved?”

Harry looked down at his potion. Everybody’s had turned a different colour. Once you added the blood, the Philtre adjusted to suit the essence of the brewer.

Harry’s own had turned an incredibly sunny yellow, and was slightly luminescent. When he breathed it in, there was the scent of... pine, and wind maybe, a whiff of cologne. Not entirely difficult to distinguish, thought Harry, eyes sliding to the left where Draco stood, surreptitiously scenting his own potion.

Harry peered into Draco’s cauldron. The mixture was effervescent, a sharp mix of blue and gray, sort of indefinable, though if pressed Harry would say that the colour resembled a mirror. A little mist rose mysteriously from the surface.

“Why does yours look so magical?” he asked.

Draco turned, and looked at Harry’s with a smirk. “They take on the characteristic of the brewer, if it looks more magical, it’s probably because I am more magical.” he said.

“Bugger off.” retorted Harry. 

Draco laughed. “Yours has flecks of gold in it!” he said gleefully. “Merlin, I think they’re actually sparkling!” 

Harry, who hadn’t looked that closely, stared at his potion in dismay. It was sparkling.

“Oh, how privileged I feel, to be in the presence of the golden boy!” mocked Draco.

Just then, Slughorn suggested they all inspect one another’s potions, to get an idea of ‘what worked, and what did not.’

Harry groaned. This would likely be embarrassing.

Still, he didn’t hesitate to look at his classmates potions. Hermione’s looked like a lime flavoured cordial, and was prone to producing rotund little bubbles every now and then, Ron’s was almost the polar opposite. It was as thick as mud, and shaded in the hottest pink Harry had ever laid eyes upon.

“That tone is actually called watermelon.” Ron corrected him superciliously. “It’s incredibly bloody different.”

“Sure.” laughed Harry, before jumping away as it produced a number of heart shaped fireworks when Hermione walked by. 

Lavenders, rather fittingly, was actually lavender, with bright red lumps rising to the surface every now and then, exploding, and then sinking back down to the bottom. 

Pansy’s was an inky black, when Harry looked at it, he felt as though he were staring into space.

“That’s unsettling.” he told her.

She smiled. “Good.”

“No, really, I can’t even see the bottom of the cauldron.”

 

“Move along, Potter.” she said.

He grinned. 

Neville’s potion was sky blue, with little clouds that huffed and puffed casually, floating about around the top.

Harry looked at all of these and more, including the sludge that Seamus had managed to produce, and still the scent of Draco’s cologne followed him about the room.

There was no escaping it.

Every time he looked at one of his classmate’s potions, the scent grew stronger. 

At one point, he even coughed a little.

“Are you alright, Harry?” asked Smith, patting him on the back. 

“Of course,” said Harry. “Just, a really strong smell.”

Smith’s potion was turquoise, and glowing. It would have been eery if it weren’t so cool.

Harry found himself wondering how essence of Smith could look pleasant at all. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed from across the room. “Yours is lovely!” 

“Okay.” he said, hoping to avoid any attention. 

Naturally, everyone surrounded his and Draco’s work bench. Even Zabini, who was quite possibly the most apathetic person Harry had ever met. Zabini’s potion had been white, and without texture. Like milk, and far more unsettling than Pansy’s. 

“Oh, Harry!” Parvati exclaimed. 

He pushed his way to the front, intending to cover it. Then he realised that Draco was coming closer, he had been chatting with Slughorn, but was now making his careful way over to see what was going on. 

No one else had noticed, but Harry was overly conscious, perhaps, of the way his potion began to glow the closer Draco came to the table. 

“It’s like a crock of gold.” said Seamus, in typical Irishman's awe.

This is a disaster waiting to happen, thought Harry. 

The Philtre, which was all glowy and pleased with itself inside of Harry’s cauldron, was only aware of Draco Malfoy. It glowed harder.

Harry watched on in horror as the glow metamorphosed into a sort of colourful beam the closer Draco got to the table.

That’s it, thought Harry hurriedly, I’m a man of action, and Draco can’t see this. In one intentionally clumsy movement he stepped forward and ‘tripped’ into the bench, knocking his potion to the floor, and his stupid feelings to the wayside.

“Oh no!” Harry exclaimed, before vanishing the potion.

Not quickly enough apparently, for everybody and their crup saw the rainbow that had burst forth from his cauldron before it’s timely extinction.

“A rainbow!” exclaimed Seamus. ‘Diddle dee dee! And with a crock of gold at the end too!”

Harry groaned, and picked up his empty cauldron. “Well,” he said, rather more viciously than was warranted. “At least mine doesn’t look like dirt.” he said pointedly.

“You wound me, Harry.” replied Seamus. “My heart is well-broken now.”

“Cry me a river.” said Harry.

 

The next few weeks passed slowly, but Harry was glad to see the back of winter. The spring came, not only with new flowers and new blooms, but with a new outlook on romance for Harry.

He tried for a few days, to get over his feelings for Draco, but soon realised that things were not going to be that simple. At first, this had resulted in numerous and lengthy strops that Harry was not particularly proud of, but with the warmth of the new season, came a kind of calm.

Harry resigned himself slowly to the fact that he was unlikely to get what he wanted, this was a frame of mind he was well accustomed to, and so it did not take him long to readjust. 

Yes, he thought, I am resigned now, and I have accepted things. I will be the friend, not the lover.

Of course, fate being what she was, chose the very moment that Harry had accepted his lot to shake things up. 

He was sat by the lake when Draco Malfoy ran by, looking grim and pale. 

“Draco?” Harry cried, rising immediately and following him.

Draco was a fast runner, and he reached the edge of the forest before Harry had taken even a few steps towards him. 

Harry pulled his wand and broke into a run. 

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, he looked back at the castle once, before disappearing into the woody depths of the trees. 

Merlin, thought Harry, I haven’t been in here since- since. It didn’t bear thinking about.

He kept going, Draco had not been all that careful in his flight, and there were a number of footprints, snapped twigs and evidently disrupted foliage that indicated to Harry which direction he needed to go.

“Arrgh!” Harry heard someone scream in frustration, the sound was followed by a loud crash.

He approached the source slowly, and came into a small clearing. 

Draco was holding a smallish log, roughly the size of a beating bat, and slamming it in to any available target. 

Harry remembered the last time he had caught Draco vulnerable, and proceeded with caution.

“Draco?” he asked, reaching a hand up to touch the boys back.

Draco spun around. “What?” he snapped.

“I don’t know.” replied Harry honestly. “You looked upset?”

Draco snorted, and stared somewhere behind Harry.

“I got my application back.” he said tightly.

“Oh.” replied Harry, there wasn’t all that much he could say.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Draco. “I was being ridiculous. They only select five people, in all of Europe you know.”

“There’s plenty of other things you can do.” said Harry earnestly. “Maybe you-”

“Potter, stop.” replied Draco. “Just- stop.”

“But-”

“There are opportunities for you. Not for me. I was being ridiculous,” said Draco, tone clipped and utterly void of emotion. “This is a disappointment, because I had hinged my hopes on an apprenticeship. It doesn’t matter.” he repeated.

“Draco,” Harry interjected, Draco stared down at him with hollow eyes. “Err, look, I think you could do a lot of things, you’re brilliant, and-”

“Read this, Potter.” said Draco sharply, pulling a letter from his jacket.

Harry opened the envelope reluctantly. 

 

To Draco Lucius Malfoy, it read, Harry scanned a short way. We are sorry to inform you... Thankyou for your application... Someone of your background... Hope you understand... Sincerely, C.A.T.S.

Harry dropped the letter as though he had been burned.

“Malfoy, they can’t do that. They’ve outright said the only reason they don’t want you is because of your past. You’re work is still good enough. They have to let you in!” Harry exclaimed.

“Potter, wake up. The world does not work the way you think it does. Don’t be so naive.”

Harry paused.He wasn’t naive, he just didn’t think it was fair. 

“Draco,” he said carefully. “These people, they don’t- well, they don’t determine your worth. Only you do.” 

And just like that a damn had broken, the fight went out of Draco almost instantaneously, he slumped forwards and Harry caught him.

“It’s okay.” he said into Draco’s neck.

Draco let out a dry sob in response. “It’s not fair.” he said.

“I know.” replied Harry. “I know.”

They stood like that for a while, the forest was quiet around them, and there was no one to hear or see Draco Malfoy come a little unravelled.

Eventually, he stepped back a little, but kept a grip on Harry’s shoulders.

“You like me, don’t you Potter?”

Harry nodded. “You’ve become one of my closest friends, you have to have known that.”

Draco looked at him seriously for a moment, Harry noticed that his eyes were still a little hollow.

“Pansy told me.” he said. “I didn’t believe her.”

“Oh.” replied Harry, not fully understanding why Pansy affirming their friendship was so significant. 

Draco stepped forward then, pressing their bodies flush together. 

“Err, Draco?” Harry asked, a tremor in his voice.

“Don’t speak for a minute.” replied Draco.

He kissed Harry then, tentatively, nothing like Harry had imagined he might do.

On those rare occasions Harry had allowed himself to consider it, Draco had been all harsh realities, and forceful touches. 

This was slower, and a thousand times more fragile.

Harry barely moved as Draco touched his tongue to Harry’s lower lip, and pressed his mouth all soft, and ran his hand all light. 

It was overwhelming, and wonderful, and Harry was a little frozen, until Draco walked him back against a tree and put a hand to his jaw and sucked on his lip.

Then Harry kissed back. His hands roamed the expanse of Draco’s back freely, and he couldn’t breathe, oh gods, how good it felt, he touched Draco’s hair; silky, and Draco’s neck; warm, and Draco’s body; trembling a little.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, he likes me, thought Harry, no one kisses like that otherwise.

“It’s getting dark.” remarked Draco, between pants. 

“Mmm.” agreed Harry.

“We should go.” 

“Okay.” said Harry, rather more shyly than he would liked to have sound. In the fantasies he was rather more confident, and experienced. 

Draco let go of him completely then, and Harry mourned the loss briefly.  
It had indeed grown darker, the trees cast longer shadows and the light between them was dimmer.

They walked through the trees in silence, and that gave Harry time to worry.

How could he have allowed this to happen, hadn’t he just decided that he would resign himself to being in Draco’s life as a friend rather than a pathetic hanger-on?

Draco didn’t want to kiss him, that was how he had realised- hang on.

Draco did not want to kiss him, and yet they had just spent that past however long snogging against a tree.

“Hold on,” said Harry, coming to a stop.

Draco turned and looked at him expectantly. 

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“Why did I do what?” Draco asked, looking at him blankly.

“Why did you kiss me?” said Harry firmly.

“Why do you need to know?” replied Draco enigmatically.

“I just do.” said Harry. “It’s my business after all.”

“I don’t see how.” hummed Draco, and there was an infuriating aloofness making it’s way back onto Draco’s face that Harry was not dreadfully fond of.

“Because,” explained Harry impatiently. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want to.”

Draco frowned. “What?”

Harry scowled at him. “Don’t play dumb. At the party, you took the forfeit. And now you come and just... kiss me!?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you, Potter.” said Draco.

Harry glared at him. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Draco agreed. “I don’t see what you’re so up in arms about anyhow, it’s just kissing.”

Harry’s heart stopped. 

That wasn’t true, he was being overly dramatic. 

“Okay Draco. Don’t worry about.” he said coldly. “It was just kissing, and it doesn’t matter.” 

Draco shrugged. “Glad we agree.”

“Good.” said Harry.

When they reached the edge of the forest Harry walked in the opposite direction to Draco, he couldn’t bear going back to the castle just yet.

In fact, hurling a log at some trees sounded rather appealing.

 

The next day, Draco acted as though they hadn’t had a row at all.

“Hey, Potter.” he said. “That’s too many eye-of-newt.”

Harry wondered if this was Draco’s way of apologising. If so, he wasn’t very good at it.

Actually Harry wasn’t even properly sure whose job it was to apologise. He felt strangely guilty even though he had analysed the situation in depth and was quite certain it hadn’t been his fault.

“Thanks.” he muttered. 

“I don’t feel all that inclined to fight with you, Potter.” said Draco, barely looking up from his potion. 

“Don’t patronise me.” replied Harry quietly. 

“I’m not.”

“I don’t feel all that inclined to discuss this presently.” said Harry.

“Look,” said Draco. “Can we just- forget it. Pretend it never happened? Please?”

Harry considered what Draco was asking him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever forget it, but for Draco’s sake...

“Fine.” agreed Harry. “It’s forgotten.”

 

Except that it wasn’t. Things returned very much to normal after that. Harry still had the occasional tea with Hagrid, he still had debating meetings with The Snitches, he still went flying with Ron and the boys, and he still often did his homework with Neville and Luna in the library. Everything was incredibly typical, even potions lessons, and yet the kiss still cropped up in his thoughts when he least expected it. 

Still, things were relatively mundane.

Draco made scathing remarks about his work, remarks that often improved his potions, and when they had parties, Draco often took it upon himself to spend their entirety at Harry’s side. It would have been flattering if it hadn’t been so frustrating. 

There had been one particularly memorable occasion in which Zacharias Smith had asked Harry to dance again, this time at a more Seamus-esque themed party, where the music had been fast, and (dare Harry say), sexy, Draco had dragged him away by the wrist roughly.

“Ow,” Harry exclaimed, ripping his hand away. “Malfoy, what the fuck?”

He did not often swear near Draco. The shock on his face was enough to remind Harry of that fact- and yet he felt absolutely no contrition. It was not his fault or his prerogative that Draco had been acting like a complete mad man. 

“Malfoy?” he asked again sharply. 

Draco visibly flinched, and Harry had to work to hide his frustration. He was very sick of being made to feel as though he were constantly doing the wrong thing, when it had been Draco who had dragged him across the room, and when it had been Draco who had been leading him on.  
Harry had come to suspect that the kiss had been a carrot dangled, the subsequent apathy, a stick in the arse.

To what purpose, Harry did not know. 

When Draco still didn’t speak, Harry huffed and walked away. 

Perhaps a dance with Smith wouldn’t be so terrible after all. 

 

Things became so confusing, that Harry eventually began to distance himself. He began to consider again, what he might like to do after school was out.  
He still had some vague idea that he might like to be an auror, but the lack of Ron and the realities of the job had given him pause. 

He did not think he would be all that fond of parchment work, that paired with his distrust of the ministry had him considering the idea that perhaps he had been more in love with the idea of being an auror, rather than the career itself.

“You should read some of these pamphlets.” suggested Hermione, she handed him a shoebox, that he discovered, was full to the brim with career outlines and different pathways that students of magic could take after their education was complete. 

Harry looked over at Hermione, who was jotting down notes from a textbook. Ron was lying next to her, his head in he lap. 

“We always sit by this fireplace.” said Harry. 

Hermione nodded. “It’s human nature, we don’t like things to change, it can be scary when they do.”

“Wise words.” agreed Ron.

“Do either of you have a plan or anything?” he asked.

Ron looked up at him. “Hermione’s hooked me up with some muggle culinary school, figure I’ll see how it goes, maybe have open a restaurant if I’m any good. Until then, George gave me a job at the shop.”

Harry nodded, he had been offered a job too, but he had declined in the end, thinking about how uncomfortable it could be to interact with the wizarding community for large amounts of time.

“Hermione?” he asked. 

“I wanted to do healing for a very long time, it’s helpful, you know. And my parents would have liked it.” she said with a grin. “But, I’ve been thinking more about laws, and reform, and how the war started. I think... if I work in the ministry then I have a real chance at changing it.”

“Ah,” mused Harry. “The belly of the beast.”

She nodded. “Precisely.”

“No one expects you to be an auror you know, I think a long time ago you might have come up with some ideal version of yourself that you needed to become to be happy, but Harry, if being an auror isn’t going to do it... you’ll find something else.”

He nodded. “I’m starting to think I just don’t want to work in the ministry.” he said. “Bastards, the lot of them.”

Ron chuckled and Hermione thwacked him with her book. 

“Alright, mate.” he said. “It’s like this. What do you enjoy doing?”

Hermione nodded. “That’s good, and maybe some things you’re passionate about.” she pulled some parchment and a quill from nowhere and wrote across the top ‘Harry’s future’.

“Merlin, that’s broad.” he said.

She nodded. “The future is broad, Harry.”

“Alright, errm. I suppose... flying?”

Hermione split the page into two columns, labelled ‘enjoy’ and ‘passionate’.

She put flying in enjoy.

Ron snatched the parchment away. “Hermione!” he said, scandalised. “Flying is a passion!”

She snatched it back. “No back-seat driving. Write it yourself if you don’t like it.”

Ron put his hands up. “By all means, flying is enjoyable, don’t mind me.”

Harry chewed on his quill thoughtfully. “Defense?” he suggested.

“Do you enjoy it?” posed Hermione. “Or are you good at it?”

Harry considered this. “I’m passionate about it.” he said.

“Ooh, I know.” said Ron. “You like making things, right?”

Harry nodded, not fully understanding where the conversation was headed. “And you fixed all of those cupboards in Grimmauld over the summer, remember?” 

Hermione looked up. “That was rather good, actually. You did a good job on some of the older furniture too.”

Harry smiled, it had been a very productive summer, he had spent a long while refurbishing the furniture and starting to repaint the house.

“And the play thing!” added Ron.

“What?” asked Hermione.

“That castle thing he made, for the christmas play.”

“Ooh, I’d forgotten that. But what do we call it?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, making stuff?”

Hermione wrote that down between the two columns.

“Just from this list we already know that you want to do something hands on, maybe with problem solving, and not that much supervision.”

“He’s got a problem with authority, that one.” said Ron in his best McGonagall impression. 

“I just don’t know what job that would be.” said Harry, ignoring Ron and replying to Hermione.

“Don’t you?” asked Ron in surprise. “It’s easy, there’s a ton. You could be an independent curse breaker, or you could be an inventor-” Harry shook his head at that one.

“No? Well, there’s still heaps. Uhh, defense teacher, magi-archeologist, explorer, independent investigator? Craftsman, there’s a ton of different crafts you could do- magical buildings are really important, especially after the war, you could fix them, or design them?”

“These are very good ideas, Ron.” said Hermione.

Harry agreed, he hadn’t been able to think of half of these. 

“And there’s weird jobs too, necromancer- ugh, sorcery- you’d have to do an apprenticeship, umm, bloody hell, there were way more in my head a second ago. You could learn elemental magic? They do lots of stuff, like conserve nature and ancient magic and other stuff I think-”

“You’ve given him a lot to think about, Ron.” said Hermione, running a hand through his hair.

Harry nodded gratefully. He had been beginning to feel a little overloaded, but at the same time there was a part of him still stuck on the very first career Ron had suggested, a small part of him that was saying curse-breaking might be interesting to look into. 

He stared into the fire and imagine himself going to exotic places, and dealing with interesting magic and doing adventurous things without constantly fearing for his life or bowing down to ministerial authority. Yes, he mused, that could work. 

The door to the common room was bashed upon then, and Harry sat up with a start.  
Hermione stood and approached the fat lady. “Who is it?” she asked.

The fat lady sniffed and looked at her disdainfully without replying, it had been like that ever since Hermione had sent a silencing spell at her one night in the middle of an operato. 

“Ron?” Hermione called.

“You’d better go.” said Harry.

Ron stood from the squishy chair and cracked his back as he went.

Harry wrinkled his nose, he bit his nails and chewed his quills, he wasn’t a saint. But both Hermione and Ron were obsessed with popping al of the bones in their body on a regular basis. 

It could make anyone queasy. 

“Who’s there?” Ron asked the fat lady. 

She readjusted her voluminous bosom and batted her lashes. 

“I swear she wasn’t this much of a flirt back in the day.” said Harry to Hermione.

She rolled her eyes, but watched Ron like a hawk.

“That Parkinson girl.” said the painting.

“Should we let her in?” asked Ron.

“Yes.” said Hermione.

“Let her in.” Ron said to the portrait.

The painting swung wide open, and Pansy Parkinson walked in with blazing eyes.

“Potter,” she said, zeroing in on him. “You’re coming with me.”

She stalked over, hauled him up by the front of the robes and dragged him out of the common room. 

Harry was just in time to hear Ron say “Aww, babe, I don’t have eyes for anyone but you.”  
and Hermione’s reply of ‘tell that to Lavender’s breasts’, before the portrait swung closed.

 

He followed her all the way up to the room of requirement before he asked her what was going on.

“Just, Potter.” she began. “You and I, we don’t like to show all of our cards at once, I like that. It means that... people don’t always understand who you are. Things can be... difficult.”

“I guess.” said Harry. “Look, Pansy, you seem really jittery, maybe we should go down to Pomfrey, and-”

“No,” she said, grabbing his arm. “No, she won’t understand.”

Harry looked at her. “Did you wanna go inside there?” he said, looking at the door that had manifested, it was painted in a pealing black and there was a foggy window that 

Harry couldn’t see through. Oddly enough, it reminded Harry of her Philtre, dark and infinite.

“No,” said Pansy, and he felt her shudder a little. “I don’t.”

“Okay, then we-”

“Require a different room, please.” she said.

“Alright.” Harry thought very hard about a comforting sort of room, the type of room that had hot chocolate on hand and a fire and very squishy chairs. 

The door turned blue. 

“Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded, severe hair-style bobbing a little at the movement.

They walked in, and the room was exactly as he had imagined it, with soft carpet and warm lighting.

“Gods, Potter. You homebody.”

He shrugged.

They sat down across from each other.

“Merlin, I could go for a cigarette.” she exclaimed, scratching at the nicotine patches she was still wearing.

Harry watched her warily. He didn’t often compare women to dogs, but Pansy was reminding him of the staffy that the Polkiss’s had kept. It had barked at anyone who walked past it, and it had bit people to, but, Harry had seen one day, that was because Mr Polkiss, had liked to kick it in the stomach when it did the wrong thing.

The dog had been very scared, all of the time.

“Just have one,” said Harry. “If it’ll make you feel better. We all have bad habits.”

She laughed then. “Oh, and what’s yours wonder boy?” she asked bitterly.

“Me?” he said candidly, thinking of the dog, Muffy, and how different things might have been had it been shown kindness. “That’s easy, I often care very much about people who don’t like me all that much. I like the pain, I think.” he said.

“It hurts so good.” replied Pansy, staring at him. “Except yours doesn’t count. Yours is only trying to convince himself he doesn’t like you, in reality he cares rather a lot.”

Harry snorted.

“Pansy.” he asked bluntly. “What’s going on?”

“I’m being stupid,” she warned. “It’s not even all that bad.”

“Okay.” said Harry. “That’s fine.”

He tried to channel the way Ron acted when he or Hermione weren’t feeling al that functional.

“I had a fight with Pepper,” she said. “Because she didn’t knock when I was having a shower.”

“Oh.” said Harry, not knowing how to reply.

“I over reacted Potter,” Pansy explained bluntly. “I screamed at her until she was crying and then pushed her so hard she fell over.”

“Is she hurt?” Harry asked. 

Pansy sighed. “No, just scared.” she said. “Of me. Draco’s dealing with her, I’m sure.”

“That’s good.” he replied, lifting his hands and warming them by the flame. 

“He’s a very caring person.” 

Harry said nothing.

“He doesn’t care often, but when he does it’s deeply and not easy to shake.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know anything about Draco Malfoy. Right now, I don’t want to.” he said. “I just, maybe if you want to talk about, whatever it is, that’s going on with you. Then we can-” he waved his hand in a wishy-washy motion. “Talk about me.”

Pansy tucked her back behind her ear. Her nails were blood red, and the paint had chipped a little, as though she had been picking at it. 

“I know that we all liken to pretend that the war is over.” she said. “But it never is, is it?”

Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t have to, for those of them who had been involved, it seemed like the war would never be over, no pretending would ever stop it from creeping into their lives like devils snare. 

“There’s something I haven’t told anyone, Potter.” said Pansy. “Something I’m only willing to tell you, if you’ll keep it secret.”

He nodded. 

“Good. There were a lot of bad things that happened last year, no matter what side you were on. I can’t tell anyone about this one.” 

She stared into the fire. “I used to think that everyone on your side were the good guys, you know? Fighting for change, and justice, and light, or whatever.” she rolled her eyes. “But family ties, yeah? You can’t choose your family. Fuck it-” she pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it with the fireplace. She took a drag and exhaled, staring at the ceiling blankly. “I need to tell someone. It’s a very heavy... I was wrong. I was very wrong.”

“About what?” asked Harry.

“Your side,” she said, eyeing him. “There is no such thing as a good side. It’s just.. a mixed bag. I got hauled into custody after the battle, and I remember thinking-” she’s crying now, and why is it always more confronting to see slytherins cry? “- I remember thinking, it’ll be fine, you’re safe, these are the good guys, and then some guard, some guard, pulled me out for questioning, and he called me a bitch, and-”

Oh. Pansy did not have to continue. Harry wanted to be sick. He remembered the night Seamus had been dared to kiss her uncomfortably, and wished he hadn’t forgotten to check on her as he had intended at the time.

Pansy Parkinson, the most fearsome of females he knew, was sobbing, sounding wholly wrecked, and here he was just sitting by like a useless lump. 

He patted her on the shoulder, and she chuckled through tears. “Gods, Potter. That’s pathetic. Do you want to sing happy songs and braid my hair too?”

There was snot running down her nose, Harry passed her a tissue from a box that he had not noticed before.

“Is that why your sister upset you, by coming in without knocking?” he asked, putting two and two together.

She nodded. “Sorry about all this. I can’t tell anyone else. The family wouldn’t be able to do anything, and Draco would probably kill the man and end up in Azkaban after all.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t really know what to say, I’m pretty sure Hermione would be happy to go to court with you, and I could testify for your good character and all that.”

“Maybe.” she said, drying her eyes up and reapplying her mascara.

“It is difficult.” he said.

“What is?”

“The way we all pretend it never happened, with all of the parties and stuff, as though we should be celebrating.”

Pansy nodded. “I knew you’d get it.”

They spend the rest of the night talking, and it’s more cathartic than Harry would have thought, not only for Pansy, but for him as well. Discussing war things at any length with Ron or Hermione is a test to his patience, they’re both too close to him not to look at him with pity or revulsion at something particularly disturbing.

Pansy does neither of these things, she nods when he speaks, and he does the same for her.

By the time the dawn comes, both of them have circles under their eyes, but Pansy doesn’t look like she is about to shake out of her body, and Harry is carrying far less weight than he had realised he was in the first place.

“You really should hash it out with Draco, you know.” she said, as they exited the room. “I think you could both get on very well.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “And it’s up to you, but I really think that when you feel up to it we should get that bastard arrested.”

 

 

Debate VI - The Twee Snitches v The Most Esteemed Opposition

 

The final round of debates crept ever closer. Surprisingly, it was Hermione who was feeling the most anxious.

“I don’t want to compete against Ron.” she kept saying.

Much to everyones shock, the Lads had knocked the Bullets out for the final, thus leading to Hermione’s dilemma. 

“Lover-boy will simply have to deal.” said Pansy. 

“Let’s crush them.” said Susan.

“Ron won’t even be debating,” said Harry. “They flipped a coin the other night, he has to be chairperson.”

“Oh,” said Hermione. “Really? Well that’s alright then.”

When the time comes, Harry hardly even feels nervous. He walks to the centre table confidently, patting Hermione on the shoulder as he goes, and takes his place next to Ron as timekeeper.

This was the first time Harry attended a Lads debate, and he winds up rather shocked. 

Seamus introduces their argument with rather less obnoxiousness, and rather more charm than Harry would have though him capable, Sinistra is smiling into her notes with every wise-crack he makes, and somehow they are all relevant to the topic. 

“Should the wizarding ministry be ruled democratically? Of course it should. I’m of the humble opinion that wizarding society would get on with ‘having a say’ like cheese to a pizza. It’s delicious, and it makes sense.”

Harry watched Hermione grit her teeth. When they’d gotten the topic she’d been spewing that they had to argue the negative. Hermione loved democracy like it was her first child, and she hated the archaic, pure-blood oriented way the ministry was run at current. 

Susan spoke then, and though her points were both clear and concise, it was obvious that they had had some trouble coming up with rebuttal points. The attack, and my did Harry feel sophisticated for knowing enough about debating to recognise this, was weak. 

Next was Dean, and finally, things began to look up for the Snitches. He spent a large amount of time discussing the philosophical value of morality in parliament, and Harry saw all three of his team writing things down furiously.

“We usually bench him.” muttered Ron when the speech is over. Harry snorted. 

“Love him like a brother,” added Ron. “But he’s a prat.”

Then came Hermione, and she ripped every one of Dean’s points to shreds, it became somewhat of a bloodbath, and Harry thought he spied a bit of drool coming out of  
Ron’s mouth as his girlfriend systematically destroyed everything he had been working on with his team for the last month or so.

It was a humbling sight.

Finally, came Neville’s turn. It is this speech, that is perhaps the most shocking to Harry, and he realises, not for the first time, that he really needs to stop underestimating Neville Longbottom. 

His manner was calm and easily likable, he did not stutter, as Harry would have, or trip over his words, as Harry often did. Instead, he casually fired blow after verbal blow until the Snitches arguments were nothing more than decimated rubble. 

This was the first time in the competition that Harry began to worry for them.

Pansy rose and faced the audience with grace and a biting tongue. No holds were barred, and so she too, sunk her claws into the topic and threw around words like ‘great  
traditions’, ‘wizarding culture’, and a great many more Harry had less than a proper grasp on. 

It seemed to him, that the debate was neck and neck. 

When Pansy finished he speech, Harry craned his head to see Sinistra, once again, smiling into her notes. Wether this was an omen of good or bad, Harry could not tell. 

He spotted Kreacher by the jugs of water and gave him a wave. The elf looked him up and down and then nodded, in a sort of aggrieved way.

When Sinistra left the room to do the adjudication, the Snitches and Harry absconded to the side room. 

“What do we think?” asked Susan. “In the bag, or done and dusted?”

“In the bag.” said Hermione at the same time as Pansy replied in the negative.

“Harry?” asked Susan. “What say you?”

“Anyone’s game.” he said. “I couldn’t pick it.”

Pop.

Harry turned his head towards the noise. “Kreacher?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Kreacher is not aware that anything is going on, sir. Kreacher is just being here to apologise, sir.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “What on earth for?”

Kreacher sighed wearily. “Kreacher is be returning these, and is doing so with great solemnity.” he croaked, extending a purple folder full to the brim with parchment notes. 

“Where’d you get these?” asked Pansy. “Was it in Draco Malfoy’s room?” 

Kreacher shook his head. “Young elves is getting excited. Young elves is learning from these. Kreacher has only just become aware, sir.” Kreacher said, addressing Harry. 

“That’s alright, Kreacher.” said Hermione. “We’re very grateful that you’re returning them now.”

Kreacher bowed low and disappeared with a pop.

“What on earth would a house elf be learning from our debating notes?” asked Susan perplexedly. “How odd.”

“Definitely.” Harry agreed with a grin, thinking of the underground debating competition the elves were holding all of their own.

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione. “Some of these were such good points, and catchphrases.” 

“I don’t know, I feel like we’ve improved a lot since the beginning of the year.” said Susan, looking down at their first attempts. 

Hermione snorted. “And here’s some of Harry’s doodles, from when he pretended he didn’t like being in the group.”

Pansy and Susan giggled, and Harry thought rather poetically about how some things never changed. 

Those were some rather amusing stick figures of them all burning at the stake. 

Ron burst in to the room a moment later. “The adjudication is being announced now. Blimey, those are some interesting stick figures!” 

 

The Twee Snitches walked into the main hall with dignity. All of them strode purposefully, all of them hoped true. They took their seats once more on stage, and Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Ron. 

“What do you reckon?” Harry muttered under his breathe.

“Dunno,” Ron shrugged. “I’m easy either way.”

Harry nodded. “Good luck then.”

“You too.”

Sinistra took to the stage, and made a pretty speech about how proud she was that the houses had come together and made the competition possible, it’s typical self-congratulatory teacher stuff, but Harry listens to all of it intently, not wanting to miss the moment she announces the winner.

“Sadly,” said Sinistra. “There can only be one victor. And so, for exemplary debating throughout the entirety of the competition, I award the final to the Lads.” 

There came a moment of shock, for all his indecision Harry realised that he had not had a doubt in his mind that the Snitches would win. 

There was a loud cheer from the audience, and Harry watched on in amusement as the two teams shook hands. 

“I’m proud of you.” he hears Hermione say to Ron, whose face splits into a grin. 

“Thanks, babe. Ditto.”

Harry realised then that maybe there was more than one way of winning.

 

It all came to a head with Draco not long after that. Unsurprisingly, the eighth years have decided that celebration is in order.

Particularly because Dean and Seamus were ready to dish the galleons out to anyone who had bet on the Lads. As it turns out, the only person who did so was Ron.

Ron made a tidy sum of eighty-two galleons and proceeded to spend the majority of it on drinks for the party.

Harry had been chatting quietly with Luna for most of the evening when he finally saw Draco enter the room. 

“Wrackspurts?” inquired Luna.

“Definitely.” Harry agreed.

“The best way to face your wrackspurts, is to take a step.” said Luna.

“I suppose.” replied Harry, looking over at where Draco and Pansy where chatting quietly. Neville stood beside her, a mostly benign, looming figure. 

Draco looked up then, and Harry smiled at him out of habit. 

Their friendship of late, had been incredibly strained, and had returned largely to the unsure footing that had defined their interactions in the beginning of the year. 

Harry was reminded oddly, of the mimbulus mimbletonia Neville had bee so fond of when they were younger, and how if you treated it nicely, it wouldn’t get messy, but if you posed a threat, it would self destruct and ruin perfectly good train compartments. 

I should just man up, thought Harry, and try to talk about it again.

There was a part of him, the part small part of Harry that valued things liked pride and dignity, that wasn’t too impressed with the track his thoughts were taking.

No, it screamed, don’t you remember last time? Don’t you remember how much that hurt us?

Harry did remember last time, rather painfully. The conversation that had happened right after the just a kiss that hadn’t happened, he remembered it well. 

Harry pinched himself quickly on the flesh of his arm. “Like a bandaid.” he said, and walked over to Pansy, Neville, and Draco.

“Hullo, Potter.” greeted Pansy, eyeing him with a knowing glint. 

“Potter,” acknowledged Draco.

“Err, Harry.” Harry corrected. 

“I thought I could get into the habit of that, Potter.” drawled Draco. “But as it turns out old habits die hard.”

“How true.” said Harry. “Can I talk with you?”

“Go away, Parkinson.” said Draco, standing a little straighter.

Pansy rolled her eyes, but dragged Neville away with her to the dance floor.

“Only,” added Draco. “If I can talk to you first.”

Harry nodded. “Outside?” 

“On the roof.” affirmed Draco.

Because they are in the room of requirement, where doors like to appear conveniently, it does not take them long to make their way out onto that same flat ledge overlooking the lake that they had occupied before christmas. 

“So, I feel like we’ve been going in circles.” Harry said, putting his heart on his sleeve.

“I suppose we’re going to have a deep and meaningful.” Draco snarked at the same time.

Harry paused for a moment, and waited for the affronted feeling to pass, he had figured out by now that the majority of what Draco let come out of his mouth was a mechanism in defense. 

That did not excuse the things he said, or the ways he acted sometimes. But Harry wasn’t perfect either, and he was willing to compromise. 

“I’m going to put all of my cards on the table.” said Harry. “I would appreciate it if you tried to be honest with me, and refrain from laughing.”

“Potter,” interjected Draco. “All due respect, but do you really think I’ll ever not laugh at-”

Harry looked at him sternly. 

“Fine.” Draco acquiesced. 

“I like you very much. As more than a friend.” Harry started, simplest facts first. He stared out at the lake so that he didn’t have to face Draco’s reaction. “I had resigned myself to friendship with you, but then you kept doing things like dancing with me, and interfering with who I spend my time with, and kissing me.” 

He paused to take a breathe.

“I’m not completely blind, or oblivious. There are enough clues there to tell me that you like me too, at least a little. But I don’t think I can bear being some kind of halfway house, you need to decided wether or not you want to be with me or not, and like has nothing to do that.”

“Did you rehearse that, Potter.” Draco said, and his tone was so close to a mocking edge that Harry moved to leave.

“Wait, wait. Harry,” Draco called. “Wait.”

Harry turned back to face him. Draco Malfoy looked as beautiful as he always did; tall, and strong, and sharp, and beautiful. And imploring Harry to stay.

Draco wasn’t a good person, that much Harry knew. 

Draco Malfoy was the type of person who could do bad things and still think that he was the victim, he was the type of person who didn’t take peoples feelings into account unless they were his or occasionally belonging to someone close to him, he was the type of person who wielded honesty like a weapon, and who had no qualms about lying.

Draco Malfoy was flawed, Draco Malfoy was human. Harry thought he might love him deeply.

“What?” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about feelings,” Draco said. “But I suppose it wouldn’t be... completely repugnant, if it was only for a short while?”

Harry knew exactly what an olive branch looked like. He sat back down.

“We make things complicated for ourselves you know.” he remarked.

Draco grinned. “Keeps life interesting.”

“I like you, Potter. You said you realised that.” 

Harry nodded, and Draco continued. 

“There are expectations that I have been trying to live up to my whole life, not just for my parents, but for myself. I do like you. But I’ve not realised that until recently. Until recently, I had been labouring under the impression that I would complete a highly renowned apprenticeship, marry respectfully, and pass on my estate to my first-born son.”

Harry nodded again, he didn’t understand it completely, but he could empathise.

“I’ve been talking to Pansy a bit, and I’ve been starting to think that maybe things don’t have to be quite so organised.”

A small smile quirked at Harry’s mouth. 

“Smart woman, Pansy.” he said.

“Indeed.” Draco agreed, lying back and looking at the sky. There were no stars, only a luminescent full moon that lit the clouds and caught in Draco’s hair.

“So, what do you reckon?” he asked.

Draco looked at him intently, and traced a hand across Harry’s cheek.

“I would reckon,” he began in precisely enunciated syllables. “That I should probably stop stuffing you around.”

“It hasn’t been all that bad.” Harry lied.

“Thing is, you can’t expect me to change or anything, Potter. I’m mean, and heartless. Probably your feelings are going to get hurt.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and lay down beside him. “Nothing I can’t handle.” he said.

They both stared up at the sky in silence for a moment. “I think I can hear Seamus from out here.” Draco said.

Harry snorted. “I think you would still be able to hear Seamus if you were up there.” he replied, pointing at the moon.

Draco grasped his hand, and Harry turned his head to look at him quickly. 

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Draco. “I was going to say that I wanted to think about it... But I’ve thought about it, and-”

“And?”

“I’m all in.” he said, twining his finger through Harry’s.

“Good,” said Harry. “Knock knock.”

“Oh, Merlin. Not this again. I take it back all back.”

“Knock knock.” Harry repeated.

“Who’s there?” replied Draco darkly.

“Voo.”

“Voo who?”

“That’s not how it’s pronounced you silly muggle! Every pureblood knows it’s actually voodoo.”

Draco groaned. “Why are they so painful?”

Harry chuckled. “I like them.”

“You would.” replied Draco, rolling over and leaning on his elbow to look at Harry. “So, are we like, boyfriends now?”

Harry blushed a bit. “I don’t know.”

“I think we should be.” declared Draco. 

“Make up your mind.” huffed Harry.

“I have.” said Draco seriously.

Harry stared at him for a long moment, at the way his head was silhouetted by the silver pale of the sky, and the way he looked down at Harry intently. 

Harry reached a hand to the back of Draco’s neck slowly, and felt the soft strands of his hair. Draco leaned forward obligingly, and a knowledge passed between them then; they were both all in now, and there was not going back.

They would either blossom and flourish, or crash and burn. Either way, there was no escaping it.

“Alright?” Draco asked, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

Harry smiled confidently. “Never better.” 

For the second time that year, they kissed for what seemed like hours. 

There was none of the tentativity that had been there the first time. This was a possessive kiss.

A kiss that asked ‘hello, are you mine?’

A kiss that replied ‘of course I am.’

A kiss that was riddled with moans, and Draco biting his lip just there, and Harry grasping Draco’s back like that, and the moon, and Hogwarts, and them, them, them.

They were going to be alright, Harry was sure of it.

 

Debate VIII - Harry Potter v ... well, no one.

 

They were graduating, thought Harry, finally. 

It seemed as though he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, that the culmination of all his efforts and hard work had been leading up to him leaving the safety and comfort of Hogwarts walls, and forging a new life for himself.

“Looking sharp, Potter.” said Draco. 

“No, you’re looking sharp.” he replied.

“Kill me.” added Ron.

“He needs to straighten the tie.” interjected Pansy.

Harry looked down at his tie, it didn’t look crooked to him at all.

“Merlin, how did I miss that?” said Draco, he leant over and readjusted Harry’s tie carefully.

“Blinded by love, it’s the sweetest thing.” called Seamus, wiping a pretend tear from his eye.

“Shut up, Seamus.” snapped around a dozen people.

“One day,” he exclaimed, aggrieved. “One of you lot is going to hurt my feelings.”

Harry looked around the room at his cohort, they had all been crowded into their best school-robes and the much used side room to the Great Hall, and were awaiting McGonagall's signal.

“Shh!” hushed Hermione sternly. “We’re going to miss our cue.”

The eighth years hushed, and as they listened to the seventh years graduate, Harry couldn’t help but look around at them all; these wonderful group of people that he had grown up with. Soon enough, McGonagall’s voice rang through the thin walls.

“-please welcome, the returning eighth years.”

They exited the room in a single file led by Hannah Abbot- alphabetical order, and soon they were all lined up in front on all the younger students and a number of parents. 

Both the Weasleys and the Grangers waved at him from the audience, he waved back, smiling.

“Where’s your mum?” he asked Draco, who was only a few people along.

“Over there.” he replied with a pointed look.

Harry peered out over the audience until he spotted Narcissa, he felt a moments confusion when he recognised the aqua haired infant in her arms, until he spotted Andromeda by her side.

One by one they were called to the stage and awarded their graduation certificates. 

“Potter, Harry.” his name was called by McGonagall, and Harry was eleven years old again, walking on trembly legs up to the sorting hat.

He grinned an shook her hand.

“Congratulations, Mr Potter.” she said, handing him his papers. “Good show.”

Her face was filled to the brim with pride, and Harry stood a little straighter. “Thanks, Professor. For everything.”

“That’s headmistress to you.” she corrected as he took his place amongst the graduates.

A number of moving speeches were made, and Flitwick lead the choir in a rousing rendition of the school song before Hermione was invited to the stage as their cohorts best representative.

She walked calmly and confidently, she’d pulled her hair back in a sophisticated style, Harry noted, but there was a loose corkscrew that had broken it’s way out of the back. 

He remembered fondly the little girl with the monstrously bushy hair and the books too big for her to even lift. Then she, the woman, started her speech.

“There are a lot of things that I love about this group of people.” Hermione began. “But I haven’t always. Not very long ago, we hardly knew each other at all and yet, in the space of a year, so many relationships between friends, and houses, and partners, and classes have been forged that I don’t think any of us could possibly be the same as we were when the year started. We have all been irrevocably altered by our choices and our friends.”

Harry reflected then, back on to the start of the year, the newer relationships between his classmates had been farcical and shallow. Slytherins and gryffindors had spoken with civility, only because they had all been too tired to do otherwise; now, those fledgling friendships had grown far deeper and far more real.

“We’ve all changed, so, so much.” Hermione continued. 

Draco had been very cold, thought Harry, so put-together and aloof. He still was sometimes, but far more often now, would Draco lower his guard completely.

“We are all, simply put, growing up, and we’re all going in different directions. Eighth years, I love you all very much, I want to wish all of you luck in your next ventures, and just let you know that we’ll always be here, if you need us.”

“Gods,” said Pansy, wiping away a tear. “Granger should never write speeches, this is despicable.”

Neville laughed at her quietly and handed her a handkerchief. 

Hermione curtsied at the end of her speech, and Harry gave her a subtle thumbs up when she glanced at him. She smiled. 

“Come on, Potter.” said Draco, leaning in. “We have a train to catch.”

Boarding the Hogwarts Express that evening was a bitter-sweet moment. It was a symbolic thing, something that happened at the end of every year, the graduating class always left before the younger students the next day, and the parents often saw the train off from Hogsmeade Station.

Harry briefly thought of his own parents, and Sirius Black. They would be proud of him, he hoped. 

“Come on, Harry.” said Ron. “All the good compartments ‘ll be gone.”

They passed the trolley lady, and Harry bought a cauldronful of chocolate frogs.  
For old times sake.

 

He and his friends snagged one of the end compartments, Ron and Hermione bickered over who should get the window seat, before Ron simply sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

“This won’t work the whole way you know.” she said primly.

Ron rolled his eyes and held her tighter.

Pansy and Neville stumbled in some time later, carrying with them a box of suspicious looking plants.

“Hey guys,” said Dean, poking his head in. “I think Seamus just mooned all the parents from the window. It was like- art.”

“Did not!” Seamus yelled from another compartment.

“Where’s Gin?” asked Ron. “And Zabini?”

“Snogging.” said Neville.

“Definitely snogging.” agreed Pansy.

“They’re in one of the girls bathroom cubicles at the end of the carriage.” replied Hermione boredly. “No guesses as to why.”

Ron looked as though he had smelt something particularly unpleasant, but did not say anything.

Hermione smiled at him proudly.

Luna floated in sometime later, and sat down on the floor. 

“No one else is going to fit, soon.” said Hermione.

“A good thing I’m not really here.” replied Luna airily.

Draco was sat down next to Harry, and grasped his hand tightly. For Draco, the future was uncertain, but still he was hopeful. 

“Chocolate frog?” Harry asked. “This one has a really cool card.”

Draco accepted the frog but snorted at the miniature Harry who blew him a kiss, flipped him the bird, and then hid outside the frame in that order.

“You’re an intolerable arse.” said Draco fondly, as he settled in for the journey.

As for Harry, he simply watched the castle grow smaller in the distance, and enjoyed the warmth of Draco’s arm around his shoulders.

He remembered then, rather aptly, Hermione’s speech;

We’ll always be here, if you need us.

That’s nice, Harry thought warmly, I like the sound of that.

Finis.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or settings. Thankyou for reading.


End file.
